The Hunter
by E. M. Morning
Summary: Someone has it bad for Alan Frog, and he will not rest until Alan is his.
1. Chapter One

The Hunter

Chapter One

Some people are natural born killers. The need for the hunt runs through the body as natural as the blood that courses through veins. It is a basic instinct, one that cannot be ignored as much as one may try. How can you tell who is a hunter, you may be wondering. Well, it can be rather difficult to tell based off of appearances. A true hunter is able to camouflage his or her self into just about every setting. They are masters of disguise, and in a town like Santa Carla it is easy to blend into the mass of peculiar looking people. When everyone is trying to stand out it's not too hard to blend in.

Now, dear reader, if you could please turn your attention to the man standing idly in front of the comic book store. No, not that one. The man who was referred to is leaning against the railing, the one with the bland taste of clothing. Yes, that's him; the hunter. A dangerous one, too. One may not believe so looking at this man with his fading forest green polo sweater and chapped, brown loafers. His receding hair is a nearly perfect match to his tawny colored pants, and is cut cropped close to his head in a very sensible style. That is how a hunter must be; sensible. He stands comfortably in a somewhat awkward stance, arms crossed over his chest and his left leg folded over the other as he intently watches the building in front of him. People who pass pay no attention to the hunter. Some may give him a glance, only registering him as a bored and somewhat peculiar man, but never anything more. There is usually one of him in every neighborhood; the single man that likes to keep to himself. When he does chose to be sociable he is friendly. Some would consider him quirky in a sense, but all together harmless. At the moment his expression is neutral, but little do those unaware citizens know that behind the cool mask is a bubbling desire.

The hunter checks his watch. 11:15. It is nearly time. He takes a step forward and begins to enter the comic book store. He is the only customer. Two teen boys run the store, which, as he assumes, is owned by their parents. He occasionally catches a glimpse of them during his visits slumped up against the wall in a drugged induced sleep. It's a shame, he thinks. Children should not be left to fend for themselves, especially not in a place like Santa Carla. Tonight the parents are not there. It's only the two brothers packing away the store for the night. The hunter cruises the aisles, looking at the merchandise with half interest. He did not come here to look at comic books. He came in hopes of getting a glance at him; his rabbit.

They had first crossed paths nearly two months ago. It was the very early stages of summer, and for the sake of finding something to do the hunter decided to take a stroll down the board walk. The first sighting was an accident. A young boy around fourteen stood near the front of the store, stacking some new comic books onto a display. The hunter stopped in his tracks and watched for a minute or so. This, dear readers, is the moment where two strangers' paths intertwined and destiny began to take place. There was no chance of stopping it. The hunter knew that he would have this child. He could not tear his eyes or his heart away from him. His blood began to ache when he saw the boy, and he knew that not before long he would have to act out on his desires before he consumed himself.

For weeks he stalked his prey. He learned of his habits and daily routines. He got an idea of what the kid's home-life, and figured it would not be too hard to make a capture without much notice. He also learned of the boy's name, Alan, after overhearing a conversation his rabbit was having this his fair haired friend. Putting a name with the face made the fantasies all much easier. He would scrawl out the name over and over again into his journal, working it into his various plans he would carry out when his prey was finally caught. The hunt is only half of the thrill, you see. A true hunter does not make his kill quickly. It is such a waste of time. This hunter likes to spread his out, spending every moment he has earned with his prey, systematically breaking it down before the final thrill; death. This one had to be well planned. He had never seen a finer prey in his life. This was a golden opportunity, one that he was not about to waste. He began to set the plan in motion since that first fateful sighting. It was only a matter of timing now…

"Can I help you with something?"

The hunter jolted from his thoughts, and for the first time noticed the boy standing before him. It was the rabbit's brother, Edgar. Edgar watched him with a cold and nearly angry stare. His face looked much too serious to belong to someone his age, as did his voice did not match the rest of him. His rabbit was not as cold as the brother, though. No, he was a bit more nonchalant than angry. He was not always as serious, as the hunter had witnessed on a few occasions. One afternoon he saw Alan and his friend hanging out the store. The friend, Sam, had said something amusing enough to make the rabbit smile. The hunter recalled how his blood flow began to speed up with excitement that left an odd aching sensation. His stomach fluttered and his pants tightened. God knows he would have taken the child right then and there had no one else been around. But here is the hunter now, rabbit-less and left with the brother. He realizes the pause between the question and reply has passed into the awkward stages. He quickly says, "Nope! No thank you! Just browsing around, you know."

The boy eyes him suspiciously beneath his dark bangs. He is in need of a haircut. "You have ten minutes," he says coldly before walking away. The hunter nods and smiles a smile that he hopes does not show his annoyance. Such a rude little boy, the hunter thinks as he shakes his head. The man goes back looking through comic books. Truth be told he was not a fan of them. He had never been interested in them as a child, and did not read any of the ones he had purchased here. It was a waste of money, he realized, spending on items he will never use, but it made his stalking seem a whole lot less suspicious. If a middle aged man is going to be lurking around a comic book store he probably should be doing it with some seeming purpose. The hunter makes a selection of a random Superman comic and heads towards the register.

He spots his rabbit right away. Alan is sitting on top of the counter looking down at a comic book, something about vampires according to the cover. He reads it with abnormal interest, absorbing the story. His expression is as bored as ever. The attempt to look more mature is defeated by the boy kicking his feet that hung above the ground. The familiar feeling of unruly desire hits the hunter again, and he struggles to once again keep it down. God damn that rabbit, always making this so hard for him. Alan looks up once he hears someone coming towards him. He slides back behind the counter and waits for the man to come forward with his purchase. The hunter hands over the comic. As he does so, he realizes his hands are shaking. This always happens when he is in direct contact with the rabbit. He has little control over his actions. The boy does not seem to notice, though. He casually takes the comic and rings it up without giving the hunter so much more than a glance. The hunter hates these moments, the ones where he realizes that Alan barely notices his existence. He's just another pathetic old man as far as the boy is concerned. It is such a pain to want something so bad, but it does not feel the same for you. Sometimes he likes to believe that when they make eye contact Alan understands their bond and can feel it as well. The hunter knows that is only a fool's hope, though.

"2.65," Alan says. He watches the older man fumble through his pocket, looking for money. Alan bites the inside of his cheek as a feeling of annoyance begins to flood over him. He doesn't mean to act rude, but he was tired from working all day, and he and Edgar still had to make the bike ride home. The customer hands him a five dollar bill. Alan scowled as he accepts it. He hates making change. As he began to attempt to count the money backwards correctly, Aland noticed the man watching him. Most of their costumers paid very little attention to the Frog brothers, but this one was watching him so intently that it made Alan feel a bit nervous. Maybe he's just making sure I give him all of his money back, he thought. Old people were always tight with money. He quickly gathers the sum into his hand and passes it over the counter. Alan watches as the customer counts over the money. The impatience was beginning to grow. It was now 11:35. They should have locked up and been out of here five minutes ago.

"Oh! There's a mistake here," the man says. He picks a couple of coins up out of his palm and hands them back to Alan. Alan flushed at the man's smile. He takes the change back and mumbles something about wanting a bag.

"No thank you," the hunter replies. "I don't need one." He grins further, realizing that is causing the boy discomfort. Oh how the tables have been turned! "Thanks though," he says, raising the comic in his and waves a goodbye.

Edgar steps out of an aisle and joins his brother at the counter. "I thought that guy was never going to leave. I hate it when people do that. You'd think that with five minutes until closing people would get not to come in."

"Yeah," Alan says, nodding in agreement.

Edgar leans forward on the counter. "What's your problem?"

Alan shakes his head. "Nothing, I'm just tired. Let's go home."

A block's length from where the Frog brothers hooked up their bikes, the hunter stays in his car. It was old and rather beaten up, a Frankenstein looking car made up various parts from other vehicles from his collection on his front lawn. The comic book he had just purchased was thrown onto the floor in front of the passenger seat, left forgotten along with other comics and garbage from various fast food restaurants. He kept the head lights off to avoid being noticed as he watched the pair mount their bikes through his rearview mirror. His eyes closely followed them s they rode pass his car and forward into the night. He considered following them, but decided against it. The brief brush of physical contact had been enough for one night. There were times that he had followed them, though. He knew their route home and had traced it over and over many times. He knew which half dilapidated house they would return to on the crummy side of town. The hunter was very familiar with the area as he had lived there most of his life. His own house was not too far from where his rabbit lived. He would cruise through the pot holed streets feeling at peace knowing that no one would pay him any attention, and if they did, nothing would be done. That is the people's ways; keep to yourself. If it isn't your business then it does not matter.

The hunter sighs as he starts up his car. "This is going to be another lonely night," he says to himself as he fiddles with the radio knob. He settled for a channel playing classically music. He shifts the gear into drive and flickers on his head lights. The hunter watches a few people passing by on the side walk as the beings to drive home.

* * *

**Why must I be so terrible with first chapters? I know the "rabbit" thing may be a bit odd, but it will be explained in later chapters. I actually do have more of this written out, which is like a first for me. Hehe. The rating may change over time, but we'll see. So, some feedback would be lovely and thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter Two

The Hunter

Chapter Two

Some nights, permitting good weather conditions and a substantial amount of free time, the hunter likes to set up his sidewalk magic show. Yes, our hunter, the vicious man that he is, enjoys doing magic tricks. It has been a hobby of his since his teenage years, and over time he became rather good at his illusions. He was good enough to make a quite a bit of money if people were feeling generous, and most nights they were. Each time he goes out he sets up in the same spot; across the street from a diner in a busier part of town. There were always more people during the summer time, which was not only good for business but also for watching. Watching people is another one of his hobbies. Humans are fascinating beings, he believes. Such strange creatures, and they do not even notice it. This was one of the benefits to hosting a magic show. He is able to study people up close. He especially enjoys watching people's reactions to his tricks. Reactions in general fascinate him.

This night is not a good one for business. Most people are too busy running from place to place to pay notice to the lonely magician at the card table. He had a couple of customers, mostly children who liked to watch while their parents ran about. Kids are easy to entertain. Even the most simple of tricks can dazzle them. Tonight is about to start to get better for our hunter. Just as he is about to call it quits and pack up, a passing group of three catches his eye. The trio consisted of three young teen boys; two clad in army wear and the other in a brightly colored shirt. The hunter recognizes them right away. It is the rabbit, the brother, and the friend. His heart skips a beat. Well, now isn't this a lovely surprise? It is not often that he came across his rabbit outside of the comic book store, but here he is now walking along the same sidewalk. If only they would- Oh, wait. Yes they are! The friend slows down as they near the table.

"What's this?" he asks, stopping in front of it. The Frog brothers stand beside him not looking quite as interested.

"This, my dear boys," the hunter says, "is my magic show." He flashes a toothy grin too wide to be natural. The trio exchange looks. The friend speaks again.

"Really?"

"Yes," the hunter replies, keeping his eyes on Alan. They make eye contact for a brief moment. He grins again, and is about to speak again when he is distracted by other person walking in their direction. The newcomer is in his late teens or early twenties, and sports a black leather jacket. The dark, curly hair looks vaguely familiar but he cannot remember from where. The hunter moves his jaw to the right turning his smile into an awkward looking frown. Well, so much for his good fortune. Hopefully the young man will keep walking by and leave them alone. But no, of course not. He stops right behind them between Alan and the friend.

"Sammy, you're supposed to be waiting for Mom," he says. "What are you guys doing?"

"Are these your brothers?" the hunter asks. He is smiling again, a forced one that contorts his face. He can't help it at the moment. He is too upset that someone is standing so close to his rabbit and stealing away his precious time. The thought of slicing each of their throats, and take off with the boy where he could do what he pleases without any more interruptions passes through his mind.

The dark haired man scrunched his eyebrows together as he looked at the man in front of him. He had a creepy smile, one stretched too far for his face. Maybe is he was trying too hard to be friendly, or putting in extra work to come up with a fake one after a couple hours of work. Perhaps this guy is just weird, he thought. You would have to be a bit odd to do this sort of job. "Just this one," he says, putting a hand on Sam's head, ruffling his hair to purposely annoy his little brother. Sam shoos him away and begins to fix his hair back to its previous state. "These two are his friends." He does the same to Alan. The hunter clenches his jaw tightly as he watches this stranger run his hand through his rabbit's hair. Who does he think he is? Alan faces Sam's brother with a disapproving look, but makes no attempt to fix his hair.

"It's a magic show, Mike," Sam says.

Michael chuckles. "Really?" he asks. The hunter, still grinning, bows his head. "What are you going to do for us? Pull a rabbit out of your hat? Saw one us in half?"

Oh, you have no idea how much I would enjoy that, the hunter says to himself. He shakes his head. "No, of course not. As you can see I am not properly equipped for those sorts of stunts. There isn't enough room. I can do a more condensed version if you like, though."

Sam looks up at his brother with pleading eyes. Michael shrugs. "Sure, why not," he says. "Mom's not here yet anyways. We can kill some time."

"Alright!" the hunter exclaims, his eyes now wide and shining like his teeth. Michael resists rolling his eyes. This guy is so cheesy, but at least it will keep Sammy entertained for a bit. "For my first act I will need a volunteer. Do I have a volunteer?" The hunter looks at each face. None of the four raise their hands. Why is that no one ever wants to volunteer, he wonders.

"Alright then! How about you, Sir?" he says to Edgar.

Edgar gives a look of disgust. "No," is the reply.

"Ah, a non believer, I see!"

"No. I just don't want to take part in your witch craft."

The hunter blinks. Well, that was a new response. Most of the time people refused because he or she was too nervous or shy. Michael cracks a smile. Sammy has weird friends, but over the past month since the vampire incident the two Frog brothers were starting to grow on Michael. They have their quirks, but he found their seriousness and blunt way of speaking amusing.

"How about you, then?" the hunter asks Alan.

Alan looks over at his brother, unsure of what to do. "Go for it," Sam says, nudging him with his elbow.

"Great!" the hunter exclaims. He turns his grin towards his new volunteer. Alan squirms backwards a little as he begins to regret his decision. "In this hand," the hunter goes on, "I have red foam ball." He holds it up for them to see. "There is nothing extraordinary about it; just your average ball. You can check." He passes it to Sam, who examines it before passing it down the line until it is back to the magician. "Now, you asked if I could saw someone in half. I will improvise by cutting this ball in half with only my index finger." The hunter places the red ball on top of the table and beings to rub his finger across the center of the ball in a sawing motion. Surprisingly the ball began to split in half. Sam's eyes widen with amazement while his two friends stand by looking indifferent.

"As you can see I now have two perfectly normal red balls." The hunter holds both of them up. "This is when I need my volunteer. Give me your hand please." Reluctantly Alan extends his hand forward, palm up. The hunter places one of the balls into the outreached hand, and bends the fingers up over the ball. He's actually touching him, his rabbit. He is holding his little hand within his own. He can feel the rabbit's beautiful blood pumping through his fingers. The adrenaline is nearly too much. The hunter lets go before he can make a mistake, and turns Alan's hand so that his palm is facing down. "Now I want you to hold onto that as tight as you can. Don't let it slip." He watches as Alan's hand flexes a bit into a tighter grip. The movement fascinates him. "And I will do the same." The hunter holds up his ball for his audience to see before it disappears into his own hand. "On the count of three I want you to open your hand, ok? One. Two. Three!"

As commanded, Alan releases his grip and not only does the foam ball he was given falls out, so does a second one. He tilts his head slightly, feeling confused. Sam's eyes widen again. "Did you see that, Michael?" he asks his brother.

Michael smiles. "Oh, Sammy. You are so easily entertained."

"How did you do that?" Sam asks the hunter.

"Magic," the hunter replies, his eyes still focusing on Alan. Alan is not paying attention to him, though. His eyes are still on the balls as he replayed the trick in his mind trying to figure out when the magician could have slipped the other into his hand.

"Or witchcraft," Edgar says. He glares at the hunter.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Not everything is supernatural, Edgar."

A block down Lucy Emerson emerges from the video store. She had taken over as the manager since Max mysteriously "disappeared". At the moment she was on dinner break, and had promised the boys that they would go out to eat and they were allowed to bring some friends along. Sam had asked the Frog brothers, of course. Lucy knew that Michael was going to ask his girlfriend, Star, but was not sure if she would be able to make it or not.

Lucy walks down the sidewalk trying to search between the mass of people for her boys. She told them to meet her in this area around 6:00. She checked her watch. It was 6:05, so they had to be around here something. As she weaves her way through the crowd of people, Lucy spots them across the street standing at some sort of side show. Smiling, she hurries across the street before any cars could pass. "Hi, boys," she says wrapping her arms around her youngest. "Sorry that I'm a little late."

"You're fine," Michael replies.

"Hey, Mom, this guy does magic," Sammy says. "You just missed the trick he did with those balls. It was crazy."

"That's nice, Sweetie," she says as she stroke's Sam's hair. She smiles at the man behind the table. He turns his focus on to her, and smiles too. For a moment Lucy froze, her hand resting in place on top of Sam's head. There was something off about that man, but she could not put her finger on it. There was something about the way he looked, something in his eyes. They were far too eager. He looked like a starving dog waiting for a couple of table scraps to be chucked at him. A shiver went through her body, and she instinctively pulled her son closer. "Well I'm starving!" she says a bit too loudly. "What about you guys? Let's go get something to eat. Thank you for keeping them entertained."

"Oh, it was my pleasure," the hunger replies doing a half bow.

Lucy releases Sam from her arms and the group beings to walk across the street towards the diner. "Talk about a freak show," Edgar says as they cross the street.

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "He seems to be missing a marble or two. But that trick was pretty cool."

Michael chuckles. "It was just a magic trick, Sammy."

"Yeah, I know. But I don't get it."

Michael reached the door first, and held it open so that the rest could walk through. As everyone was filing in, Alan turned around so that he could see the magician again. The man was still there at his empty table, watching them. For a moment he thought he recognized the strange man but could not recall from where. He had seen so many people like him since the beginning of summer that it was hard to tell them all apart. "Hey, Bud, are you coming?" Alan turns back and sees that Michael is still standing there with door open, waiting for him. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he hurries forward. Before going inside, Alan pauses and looks over his shoulder at the magician one last time. Michael stares at him too. The man still watches them. "Come on," Michael says, placing an arm around Alan's shoulders and leads him inside. From across the street the hunter scowls. He waits until the two are no longer in sight before he starts to pack up his stand.

* * *

**Well that turned out to be rather short. I promise that things will start picking up within the next one or two chapters! Has anyone had that trick done to them before? My brother's friend showed me it a couple days ago, and I was completely baffled. I'm easy to impress though. Hehe. I haven't figured it out yet. I'll probably go google it or something since he refuses to tell me his secrets. Google knows everything. **


	3. Chapter Three

The Hunter

Chapter Three

A storm is brewing. It had been since the early hours of the day. The air was thick humidity making the already warm weather even more unpleasant. Alan glanced out one of the store windows. A thick bunch of clouds gathered together, looking like they were ready to pout at any minute. He hoped the storm would hold off until they closed and got back home.

"You guys should really consider getting an air conditioner in here," Sam says. Sam had been hanging around since noon time. Michael would stop him off most days so he would not have to keep his little brother busy while their mother was at work. Having Sam around was weird sometimes. For the most part of his life it had only been Edgar and himself; adding a third person took some adjusting. Alan liked Sam, though. He brought a new sort of energy to the group, and oddly enough, he fits in perfectly.

Edgar dropped a box of comics on the counter, causing Alan to turn around, alarmed by the sudden noise. "It'd be a lot less hot if you got away from the front of the damned fan," Edgar says. Sam regards the statement for a moment, but decides to stay put.

"You know what a great idea is?" he says. "Ice-cream. That sounds like a great idea."

"They've already invented that, Sammy," Edgar says.

Sam rolls his eyes. "No shit. I meant getting some. Do you want to go?"

The Frog brother stares at his friend from out under his bangs as if the idea of buying ice-cream was foreign to him. "Fine," he replies, his expression still grim.

Sam grins, and heads for the exit. "Alan, are you coming?" he asks, turning around.

Alan shakes his head. I'll stay here in case someone comes in."

"No one is coming," his brother says. "It's ten o'clock, and we've been empty for hours."

"You never know."

Edgar stares at him for a moment longer. "Fine. Be that way."

"Hey, can I borrow your bike if you're staying here then?" Sam asks.

"Go for it."

"Thanks! Do you want us to bring you back anything?"

"No," Alan says. "I'm fine. You guys go ahead."

Sam and Edgar exchange looks. "Ok then," Sam says with a shrug. "We'll be back soon." The two turn to leave.

"Try not to die of boredom while we're gone," Edgar says as he exits the store. Alan shakes his head. He stands at the counter, looking around the store. It seems a lot emptier with Sam and Edgar gone; a lot quieter as well. He walks around the counter and down the nearest aisle. His steps are light and quiet, unconscious to him as he feels any sort of noise would not fit with the fresh silence. He could not remember the last time had been alone in the store, especially at night. It had an awkward feeling to it, like he wasn't supposed to be there. As he walks down the aisle, looking at the comics as he passes by, Alan notices that the shelves are rather dusty. He runs his finger along the side of one, picking up a substantial amount of dust. He narrows his eyes as he studies the dirt on his finger. When was the last time they had cleaned this place, he wondered. Had they ever? He glances at the clock; 10:10. Alan sighs as he rubs his hands over his face. Edgar had been right; it is already late and doubtful that anyone would be coming. He was wasting his time standing around. Maybe he could do some cleaning to kill the time until Edgar and Sam return. Alan looks around, trying to think of where his parents would store cleaning supplies, if they had any to store. Probably not, he guessed. Tidiness is not a top priority in their family. Alan decides that his best bet would be looking in the back of the store where they keep bunch of other forgotten things, and goes back there to check.

* * *

It is not often that Michael is able to spend time with Star. It's even more of a rarity that they can find themselves alone. He thought once the whole vampire incident was out of the way they would be able to spend more time together. This, of course, was soon proven false. No longer being able to live in the cave, Star had to set out to find a new and more suitable housing for Laddie and herself. To do so Star would also have to acquire a job to pay for bills and such. Balancing a house and parenthood had proven to be a bit more difficult than Star had originally believed it to be; especially now that she did not have the guys to help watch Laddie every once in awhile. She could have given him up, of course. the thought had crossed her mind many times, and the option would probably be the best for both of them, but Star could not bring herself to part with the boy. She had grown very close to him during their time as half vampires together. He had become a little brother to her, and the only thing close to family that she had left. Star had run away from her real family many years ago, so there were no chances of going back there. The new family she had made in Santa Carla are all dead now. Laddie seemed to be the only one left. And Michael; thank God for him. Star loves spending time with him. He made her feel normal again, like the carefree young woman that she always wanted to be. This is how she is feeling at the moment; perfectly normal, and nothing has ever felt better than this.

Earlier Michael had picked her up in his grandpa's car; his little brother, Sam, kept in the backseat until he was dropped off at the comic book store. Laddie was taken to a neighbor's house so that she was free from responsibilities until midnight. She is having such a wonderful night; dinner, movie, and now just driving around. Michael keeps one arm around her shoulders as he uses his other hand to guide the steering wheel. Star smiles to herself as she leans in closer to Michael. This is one of her favorite activities of theirs; driving aimlessly around town while they have long conversations about nothing and everything. She looks at the digital car clock. 11:20; only forty minutes left until the clock strikes twelve, and she will have to once again go from being Cinderella to just another servant girl. That's the problem with life; everything must always come to an end. Star shifts in her seat, settling into a more comfortable position. While they continue driving, she notices a lone person walking down the sidewalk in front of them. As they draw closer, she begins to recognize the person.

"Hey," she says lightly rapping the back of her fingers against Michael's chest. "Isn't that your brother's friend?"

Lazily Michael turns his head. Yes, indeed it is one of Sammy's odd ball friends. He is easily recognizable by his camouflage clothing and the backpack with a wooden steak poking out. Considering the lack of headband this Frog brother must be Alan Frog walking alone at night, completely oblivious to the world around him.

"It's kind of late for him to be out on his own," Star says. "Maybe you should ask him if he needs a ride."

Michael shrugs. "I'm sure he's fine." Honestly, he had no problem with giving Alan a ride to wherever he was going; at least he wouldn't if it had be any other night other than this one. This was probably one of the last few nights he would get to spend with Star for awhile, and spending the rest of it with one of the weird Frog kids was not preferable.

"You could at least ask," Star says. "He's still just a kid. Would you let Sam be out alone at night?"

Michael bites his tongue as he chews on the thought. Comparing his baby brother to one of the Frogs is not very fair. They have completely different upbringing. Sam is still much too naïve and helpless to be out on his own while Alan has probably been doing so for ages now. He was much more experienced and prepared. He did carry a steak around with him for God's sake. But Star did have a point, though. This is Santa Carla after all. With a sigh, Michael speeds up a bit to catch up with him.

"Hey," he calls. Alan jumps a little, just noticing the car crawling beside him. His eyes squint a bit, trying to adjust to the bright headlights. For a moment his heart speeds up a beat on full alert. He notices that it is only Michael behind the wheel, and that one half girl is also there in the passenger seat.

Star leans over Michael to get closer to the window. "Do you need a ride?" she asks Alan. Alan stares at her, looking as if he was unsure of what she was asking. "It's no problem," Star goes on.

"Yeah," Michael adds in. Alan focuses eyes onto Michael. Alan does not believe what he had said. He could tell by Michael's facial expression that he was just itching to get out of there. He was probably on a date, Alan guessed, judging on the fact it was only Star and Michael, and Alan didn't want to intrude.

He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Star asks, her voice sounding uncertain. "Because it's really no problem."

"I'm fine," Alan repeats.

Michael seems more comfortable with the answer, and is ready to accept it. "All right, Bud. We'll see you later then," he says as he pushes the gear into drive. Just before he is about to drive off, Michael pauses to ask a quick question. "Oh, hey, do you know where Sammy is?"

"He left with Edgar over an hour ago," Alan answers. "They're probably at the board walk still."

"Why aren't you with them?" Star asks.

"I stayed behind to close up. I waited a little for them, but I decided to walk home instead. Sam has my bike."

Michael begins to feel a little remorse considering that it is his brother's fault that Alan was stuck walking, and decides to make his offer again. "You sure you don't want a ride?" He takes a quick glance at the clock. 11:30; half an hour left.

Alan nods again. "It's not far. I don't mind walking."

Michael and Star exchange looks, quietly trying to decide if they should not accept Alan's answer. Star shrugs, signaling that it's ok. "All right then," Michael says, turning back to face Alan. "See you later, Kid."

Star waves. "Bye!"

Alan does a half wave, and stands in place to allow the couple the couple to drive off. He waits until they are some distance ahead until he starts walking again to avoid the awkwardness of having to follow their car. A roll of thunder cracks through the quiet night. Alan looks up towards the heavens, watching white bolts of lightning flicker inside the dark, pluffy clouds. He scowls at the sky. Of course it would start raining once he was stuck walking out in the open. Weather had never been one to be on his side. As he continues down the sidewalk, Alan keeps his attention on the sky above him, waiting for the first rain drops to start falling. In his absent state of mind, the young boy walks into another civilian out on, cause himself to stumble backwards and nearly fall to the ground. The other gives a lout "Oomph!" upon impact. Feeling rather annoyed with himself, Alan frantically looks around as he tries to put the pieces of what just happened together. Before him stands a man who is smoothing down his shirt. There is nothing remarkable about him; fading blonde hair, average built slightly crooked teeth. He seemed to be the uptight sort, the one neighbor who will start to foam at the mouth if someone so much sets a toe on his pristine lawn. Alan hesitates saying an apology as he expected a verbal lashing. The collision was an accident, of course, and it would not have mattered, though, even if he had been paying attention. This was a strategic move that was part of a plan that was well set into motion before he had space out. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

Much to Alan's surprise, the blonde haired man does not beginning chewing him out. Instead he asks, "Are you alright?" His face morphs into a smile, his teeth flashing as brightly and violently as the lightning above them.

Alan nods slowly as he is still half expecting a lashing.

"I'm so sorry about that," the man continues to say. His words are quick and excited as if he is much too eager to make conversation. For a moment Alan begins to feel sorry for him. Judging by this guy's looks he probably lives by himself, or still with his mother. He seems to be quite socially awkward as well. This was probably the most direct contact this poor man has had all day. "I didn't notice you there; spacing out, you know."

"Mmhmm," Alan replies. His eyes flicker onto random objects on the sidewalk, anything that could momentarily take his focus off the stranger. Talking to adults has always made Alan nervous. Thanks to his lack of parental presence and usually being ignored by teachers, he had never really learned to socialize with adults. Out of habit, his right hand goes up and clutches the dog tags around his neck. It is an unconscious action he does when he is nervous or uncomfortable. He looks back at the man, who is still smiling at him. The thought of leaving crosses Alan's mind, but out of respect and pity he stays in place. Another roll of thunder cries out above them. Alan looks up the sky, silently thanking it for giving him an excuse to leave this rather awkward situation before it began to rain.

"Looks like we're getting a storm," the man says, his voice now much more relaxed. The hunter watches the boy in front of him. Such a pretty little thing, he thinks to himself, so young, so unaware; such a perfect little rabbit. And here he is now, all alone, and ready to be taken. He smiles softly. If only the poor baby knew what was coming next, but as much as the hunter would like to reveal his secret desires, he knew that this was not the right time. The whole process would be much less fun if the element of surprise was gone. The boy nods, still facing skywards. He tilts his head to look at the other, and opens his mouth to say something, but the hunter cuts him off.

"Aren't you the kid from the comic store?" he asks quickly. He cannot allow the rabbit to have authority in this situation. The hunter must stay the one in charge. Alan closes his mouth, and nods again. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere."Alan, in fact, had also thought he had seen this man before too. The comic book store seemed to be right. He seemed like the kind of guy that would go there. "You and your brother work there. He's your brother, right? You're the only two I have ever seen there. Do your parents work there, too?"

"Uh, sometimes," Alan replies a bit coldly. He was not very comfortable with discussing his parents with some stranger.

The hunter eyes him closely. He notices that he has struck a nerve. "Are they around here somewhere? They really shouldn't be letting you walk alone at night, you know. It's not a very safe thing to do, especially in a town like Santa Carla."

Alan shakes his head. "They're at home already. It's fine; I can walk home. It's not far."

"What about your brother?"

"He's with someone else."

The hunter's face shows a frown, but on the inside he is rejoicing. It's about damned time, his mind cheers. Such stupid people; they do exactly what he wants. They make things so much easier for him. "That's too bad," he says.

Alan nods as the clouds cry out again. "I should get going," he says quickly. "Before it rains."

The hunter pauses as he contemplates his next move. "Hey, why don't I give you a lift? My car is right over there," he says, gesturing his thumb in the directing of a beat up vehicle. This is bold move, the hunter knows, but it may just work.

Alan looks over at the car. There is no way in Hell is he getting into that thing, especially with some weird old guy. "No thanks. I can walk."

The hunter smiles in an attempt to hide his growing feelings of rage and panic. "No, I insist," he says. "I don't think your parents would want you getting caught out in a storm."

Like you would know if my parents cared enough about that, Alan thinks as he looks around the street. He is hoping that he would somehow see Sam's brother again, but he knows that Michael was long gone by now. It is only the two of them; the rabbit and the hunter. "Alan." The boy snaps his attention back to the man; feeling confused how he could have known his name. He probably heard it at the store, Alan guessed. As he turns his focus ahead, Alan notices there is something different about the scene. The man is now holding something in his hand, pointing it directly at the boy. "I really do insist," the hunter says, still smiling. The look of shock on the child's face pleases him immensely. The fear in the rabbit's eyes is so raw, as he begins to realize he is now in dangerous territory. It's a beautiful moment. "I think it would be in your best interest if you come with me."

Alan's thoughts scatter as he tries to come up with some idea how to get out of this situation. He has survived a family of blood thirsty vampires, so he must surely be able to overcome some crazy human. He reaches for the wooden stake that is sticking out of his book bag. The hunter smiles, and takes a step closer. "I don't think that would be a very wise decision," he says. Alan lets his hand drop down to his side. He knows the man is right; a piece of wood is no match for the quickness and deadly power of a gun. He is screwed. The hunter walks to Alan's left side, always keeping the gun pointed at the boy's head. The clouds ring out their thunderous noise again. "I think we should go," the hunter says, gently leading Alan forward with one hand resting on his shoulder and the other jamming the gun into his back. Alan tenses up at the feeling of the weapon against his spine. He is sure this is the moment he will die. "We don't want it to start down pouring on us, do we?"

* * *

Back at the boardwalk Sam and Edgar are still running about. The two boys had originally gone out to get some ice-cream, but soon found themselves distracted by a young lady Edgar suspected to be a vampire. He insisted that they should stalk her to make sure she was not a night crawler, and Sam reluctantly followed along. It was not until they saw the supposed vampire girl walk past a mirror at an ear piercing stand and saw her reflection did the boys decided to call off the investigation. "I told you she isn't a vampire," Sam says.

Edgar scowled as he continued to watch the girl as she chatted with a group of friends. "I was positive she was one. Maybe she's pulling some sort of vampire trick."

Sam sighs loudly. "Trick? Come on, man. This is getting ridiculous." When is he ever not being ridiculous? Sam asks himself. This was actually quite a normal night, really. "Maybe she's really not a vampire. You know that is a possibility." Edgar grunted in reply.

Above them the clouds begin to swirl, stirring up the storm. A crack of thunder roars. "We should probably start heading back," Sam says looking at the sky. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Nope."

Sam looks around, trying to think of where they could find a clock. It had to be late; much later than they had told Alan they would be back. He's probably still waiting for them, and Michael probably is too. His brother had told him to be at the comic store by the time he had dropped Star off. That was supposed to be around midnight. It was surely close to, if not passed that now. "Let's go," Sam says as he gets onto Alan's bike. He turns it around, and peddles in the direction of the Frog brother's store with Edgar following behind him.

When they reach the comic book shop, the two find it dark and empty. "Do you think he left?" Sam asks. Edgar grabs the door handle and shakes it, testing to see if it is locked. The door does not budge.

"Looks like it," he says.

"Do you think he went looking for us?"

Edgar shrugged. "Maybe. Or he went back to our house."

"Maybe we should check," Sam says. "I don't think he would have went back to your place without his bike."

They make little distance back to the boardwalk before they are flagged down by Michael. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asks his younger brother.

Sam stands by the bike, still holding onto the handle bars. "Sorry," he apologizes. "We kind of lost track of time."

Michael shakes his head. "Let's go before it gets late enough for Mom to start freaking out."

"We need to find Alan first," Sam says. "I have to give him his bike back."

"He's probably already home by now," Michael says. "Star and I saw him walking earlier. Look, I can drop you and the bikes off, but we got to get going."

Sam looks over at Edgar. "Does that work for you?" Edgar glances over at his friend before giving a curt nod. The two boys wheel their bikes to over where Michael had parked the car, and load them into the back seat. Sam took the front seat while Edgar managed to squeeze into the back rather uncomfortably with the bicycles.

"So where are we going?" Michael asks as he starts up the car. Edgar begins to list off some vague directions to which Michael follows.

* * *

Inside his beaten up vehicle, the hunter is quite pleased with himself. His mission of that night has been accomplished; the rabbit is in the car, and although he is not saying anything, his very presence is reward enough. The elder had tried to make small talk during the drive, but the boy turned down the invitation each time. He sits as far away from the hunter as he can, his hand once again clutching the dog tags, as he watches the familiar scenery fly by the window. They pass his house once, and for a moment Alan believes that they will stop and he will be able to go home, shaking off the moment as just a run in with a creepy old man. Once they pass the house without even slowing down, he knows that there is little hope. The doors are locked so that he cannot escape, and his captor keeps the gun at his side, fully ready to use. His best bet, Alan figures, is to just go along for now, and as soon as they stop he can make his move to escape. If they ever stop, that is. They have been driving for quite some time now, in what Alan believes to be in random directions. He is not sure if this crazy man knows where he is going, or if he is just buying time. The sickly glow of the passing street lights and overbearing heat were beginning to make Alan feel ill. More than anything he wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for days.

The hunter watches the boy from his side view. "Are you thirsty?" he asks casually, as if this was a situation most people found themselves in. "I have some water if you are." Alan pays no attention to his offer, and continues to look out the window. The hunter grabs a thermos from his cup-holder and holds it out to his passenger. "Here, drink it." Alan glances over, regarding the cup. He shakes his head. "Drink it," the hunter says again, this time with more force. "I would hate to have to force you to."

Alan remembers the gun in the hunter's left pocket, and decides to take the thermos. Reluctantly he takes a drink from it. The hunter grins as he watches the boy swallow the liquid. "Make sure you finish all of it," he says. "It will make you feel better."

* * *

Michael sits alone in his grandfather's car drumming his fingers against the top of the door. He is parked in the drive way of his little brother's friends' house, waiting for Sam. That was five minutes ago, and in that passing time there was no sign of Sam's return. The night air grows thicker as it closes in on the people, slowly suffocating them. Sighing, Michael slumps further down in his seat and runs his hands through his curly hair. He should try to put the top of the car down, he supposes, before it rains. His grandpa would never allow him to borrow the car again if Michael returned it with water damage. Just as he was about to set the roof up, Michael hears the front door of the Frog house open. He turns his head in the direction of the sound to see Sam walking down the porch stairs with Edgar right behind him. Michael frowns as the two job towards the car. What are they up to, he wonders.

"Alan's not in there," Sam says once he reaches the side of the car.

"Are you sure?" Michael asks.

"Yeah, there's no one in there. It's completely empty. Are you sure he said he was going here?"

"That's what he told me."

Sam bites his bottom lip as he tries to think of where else Alan could have gone. "Do you think we could go back to the boardwalk to look for him?" Sam asks. "Maybe he decided to go back there instead."

Michael looks at the silent boy that is standing beside his brother. He is still wearing his usual cool expression, but Michael sees the worry starting to crack through Edgar's face. It would be useless to go back, Michael says to himself. He had seen Alan walking in this direction, and was even told that is where he was going. It is doubtful that Alan would turn back when he was so close to home. But looking again wouldn't hurt, though. His mother would probably understand once they got back. "Hop in," Michael tells them. The two younger boys quickly get back into the car, and they drive back towards the board walk in hopes of finding a pissed off Alan.

* * *

**That seems long enough, right? It did not turn out as well as I had hoped it would, but oh well. It should start to pick up more next chapter. The rating will probably be bumped up to M, so if you no longer see it, check in that section. I should be getting more time to write now that football season is over, and I won't have cheer as much until wrestling season starts up. **

**Side note: Happy Halloween everyone! I hope everyone enjoyed it. The actual holiday was a bit boring for me, actually. I just handed out candy, but I did get to see my oh so adorable little nieces and their costumes! Friday and Saturday were the fun days, though. My cheer group had a Halloween party, and last night I watched scary movies with some new friends. *Sigh* I love holidays. **


	4. Chapter Four

The Hunter

Chapter Four

The hunter watches the sleeping child lying on the mattress before him. The boy's limbs lay sprawled out in every which way. His face is calm, and his chest moves up and down slowly in peace, unaware of the beast staring at him. The hunter watches these movements intently. He is so alive, the rabbit, and it would be so easy to change that. It could be as simple as picking up a pillow, and placing it over the boy's face, smothering the life right out of him. His chest will still, and the heart will stop beating. He would fight it, the hunter knew. He could imagine the boy's hands flying up trying to remove the pillow form his face as he trashes about, trying to get up out from under the hunter. It would be useless, though. A young teen is no match for an experienced killer.

The hunter smiles to himself as he leans back against the headboard of the bed into a more comfortable position. He is completely at ease now for he knows he has won. His victory was sure once he coaxed Alan into drinking the drug laced beverage, knocking him out cold. The hunter had managed to carry the sleeping boy out of the car and into the house without anyone noticing. Alana's head lulled about, once hitting against the bedroom door frame, but it was not enough to wake him. He laid Alan upon the old, bare mattress, and sat with him, watching, as he pondered about what to do next. He knows that he must act quickly before Alan wakes up and starts to panic. Reluctantly, the hunter draws himself away from his prey and goes to find the supplies he needs. He walks to his pale green dresser and opens the top drawer, having to shake it a bit since it has the tendency to stick. He sifts through various items, finally pulling out a roll of duct tape and some white nylon rope. He frowns at his decision knowing that he could do much better. He shrugs to himself. It would have to do for now.

The hunter strolls back to the bed, and sits down beside Alan. He slowly rips up a piece of the silver tape, cutting it off from the roll with his trusty pocket knife. Carefully, he places it over the child's mouth, pressing as lightly as he can so that he does not wake him. The hunter waits a moment, looking for any signs of consciousness, but he does not stir. The hunter takes Alan's left hand into his own, and caresses it. He rubs his thumb against Alan's palm, taking in the texture of the skin. With his other hand, the hunter gently folds the boy's fingers over the hunter's thumb, feeling the muscles and bones move beneath the skin. He places Alan's hand back down on the mattress and reaches for the nylon cord. He ties one end of the rope around left wrist. Taking the right wrist into his free hand, the hunter brings it over and places it up against the left, and wraps the rest of the nylon rope around both arms, finally tying them together in a tight knot. He leaves the bound hands resting on Alan's stomach as the hunter continues to watch him. For a moment he cannot believe this is real; it is just like his perverse dreams. The rabbit is even more beautiful close up. His face is so innocent and peaceful. The hunter has never wanted anything so bad. With his hand trembling from excitement, he reaches out and runs a finger down the curve of Alan's forehead down to his chin. He traces the outline of Alan's facial features, taking his time with the process as he commits them to memory. Beneath the light touch, Alan begins to stir. His eyes slowly open to see an unfamiliar setting. It takes a moment for him to focus with his mind still foggy from the drugs he had consumed. For a second he believes that he is in his own bed in his own room just as he is used to waking up in. Alan soon realizes that he is horribly wrong once he sees the man sitting with him. His eyes open suddenly, now fully aware of what is going on. The car, the creepy man; he remembers it all now. Alan tires to open his mouth to scream, but finds that it is taped shut, as well as his hands being tied together. His heart rate picks up as his mind begins to piece together the situation. From behind the tape, Aland whimpers and frantically tries to loosen the rope binding him. The hunter leans forward and places one large hand on the boy's chest, rubbing it in an attempt to try to calm him. The direct contact only frightens Alan further, and he tries to twist away from his captor. The hunger grabs the boy's shoulders to steady him. Alan whimpers again at the touch as he starts to feel sick with panic. Gently, the hunter cups his hand around the sides of Alan's face, running his thumb over his right cheek bone as he hushes distraught child, mocking a soothing parent would.

"It's ok," the hunter says. "I'm a friend." Alan finds no reassurance in the words or how softly they were spoken. His vision begins to blur with tears. He does not want to cry because that would be a sign of weakness, so instead he tries to blink them away. A few manage to escape and slide down his cheeks. The hunter leans over and kisses the tear drops away. Alan turns his face. Calmly, the hunter grabs the boy again.

"It's ok," he repeats. A hint of laughter is in his tone causing him to sound patronizing. Alan tries to wriggle from the hunter's grasps, managing to kick him in the process. This does not go over well with the hunter; not at all. He does not like it when people hurt him. It is his job to do the hurting. He tightly grabs onto Alan's shoulders and roughly pulls him up into a sitting position so that they are face to face. Alan flinches as the fingers dig deeper in to his flesh. The hunter glares at him, his nostrils flared and angrily spouting air, before shoving Alan back down on the mattress and pins him in place. A smile crawls across the hunter's face as he leers at the terrified boy underneath him. Alan holds his breath, waiting for the man's next move. The hunter leans forward, and kisses Alan's forehead. He kisses him again; this time on the cheek. He reaches for the duct tape sealing Alan's mouth and rips it off in one swift motion, causing the boy to cry out in pain. Instinctively, Alan moves his tied hands up to his mouth. The hunter takes them way, and places them back down onto Alan's stomach.

"Stay," the hunter commands as he lowers himself on top of Alan. Alan struggles under the man's weight. He is much heavier than he looks. The hunter props his upper half up his elbows that rest on either of Alan's sides. Alan's eyes scatter about the room, unable to focus on anything, but not wanting to look at the hunter. He hopes if he can resist making eye contact then he man will just give up and go away. The hunter goes back to tracing Alan's face. The boy shudders as the finger passes over his lips.

"How old are you?" the hunter asks casually. Alan shifts his eyes up to the man above him. The way he is looking at him makes Alan's stomach turn. The man's face is calm, nearly expressionless, but in his eyes there is something else; something brooding and vicious that Alan cannot define. It scares; this nameless hatred. When the boy does not answer, the hunter frowns and begins to move. Alan shuts his eyes tightly, anticipating a physical attack. To his surprise, the hunter nuzzles his head against Alan's neck. He feels the boy's body tense up. The hunter does it again, this time making it last longer as he sucks on the soft flesh of his neck. He feels Alan's heart beat faster against his own calm heart. The hunter grins, pleased with the rabbit's reaction, and continues on with his work.

"Fourteen," Alan spits out. He hopes that it will be enough to distract the man for a moment. His plan works. The hunter pulls himself back onto his elbows and stares at the boy; feeling slightly taken aback by the fact Alan had spoken. Smiling, the hunter replies, "That's nice. Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

Alan hesitates in replying as he debates whether an awkward conversation is better than the previous activity. He decides to continue with the conversation. If it would distract the man, then so be it. Alan cannot find the ability to speak, so he improvises by shaking his head "no". Of course he has not kissed anyone. He and Edgar have no time to bother with romantic relationship. Besides, most kids, especially the girls, had already labeled them as social rejects so there was little chance of anything happening there.

"I find that hard to believe. You're quite beautiful," the hunter says as he runs a hand through Alan's hair, sweeping the bangs out of his face causing the boy to flinch. "So I guess this will all be new to you." Alan opens his mouth to speak, but is quickly silenced when the hunter presses his mouth against Alan's, forcing his tongue inside. This action shocks Alan. It feels gross; not at all as enjoyable as people lead it to be. He begins to pull away, but the hunter grabs his face, trying to still him, as he presses harder. Tears begin to flood Alan's eyes again as he starts to gag. The hunter pulls away and looks down at the boy with disapproval.

"What's wrong?" he asks, frowning. "Aren't you enjoying this?"Alan closes his eyes, his tears getting caught up in his lashes. "Do you want to go home?" Alan nods. "You know I can't do that," the hunter says as he pets the boy's dark hair. "Wouldn't you rather stay here with someone that cares about you? You know your parents don't care about you; not at all. They probably haven't even noticed that you aren't at home." Alan turns his face away. He knows that what the man said is probably right, but it sure as hell is way better than being here.

"I love you, you know" the hunter says. "Don't you love me?" Alan shakes his head, knowing full well that it is probably the wrong answer. But he really doesn't. How can he when he does not even know this person? The hunter rises so that he is only sitting on Alan's legs. A dark scowl gouges his face. How dare this little punk deny him? Especially after all the trouble he went through! Such a stupid, selfish rabbit.

"Get up," the hunter orders as he gets off of Alan's legs. Alan slowly opens his eyes, unsure of what to do. The hunter growls, and grabs the boy's tethered hands, pulling him up and forces him to sit in his lap. "Stay still." Alan does not dare to move after hearing the anger in the hunter's voice. The hunter, one arm over Alan's middle and the other hand digging through his pocket, pulls out his beloved pocket knife. The hunter lifts Alan's bound hands up, his chin pressed near the top of Alan's head, and opens his knife. Alan's eyes widen at the sharpness of the blade. Swiftly, the hunter cuts through the nylon rope and lets it fall onto the mattress. For a moment relief starts to wash over Alan. Surely he would be free to go now. But the hunter still held him tightly.

"I don't know why I try," the hunter says. His voice shakes with anger on border line hysterics. Alan's defenses go up again. "I tried being nice. I tried making it easier for you, but it's never enough, is it? No, never enough. I'm so god damn fucking tired of it!" He takes Alan's left hand into his own and forces it lay palm up. Alan watches with wide eyes as the knife draws closer to his skin. The hunter harshly presses the blade into the child's palm, leaving a diagonal gash. Alan bites his lower lip to stifle a scream as the blood begins to seep from the fresh cut. "See this?" the hunter exclaims. He does it again; this time in the other direction to form a crimson X. Alan pushes himself backwards, further into the hunter to escape the blade. It hurts so badly. The hunter lifts the bleeding hand into the air. "This means I own you. You're mine now. Got it?" Alan begins to weep loudly, choking out apologies between sobs.

"I'm sorry!" he begs through breathy gasps. "I'm sorry!"

The hunter ignores his pleas and pushes the boy back down onto the mattress. Alan lies with his arms crossed over his face, hiding his eyes. The blood continues to flow, dripping down onto the mattress. He hears the rustling of material as the hunter removes his clothes. It is not until the elder begins to remove Alan's pants, the large fingers fumbling over anger as they try to undo the jeans. Alan whimpers as they are pulled off in one quick yank.

"Quit your whining," the hunter growls. He grabs Alan's arms and yanks them away from his face. Alan watches through fear filled eyes as the hunter starts to pull up on his t-shirt. Alan allows him to remove it. He is too scared of the consequences that will come if he tries to protest. The hunter notices the dog tags that are still around Alan's neck. He images himself twisting the chains, making a tight metal noose to choke the boy. He resists the urge to follow through with his imagination, and removes the silver dog tags, tossing them on the floor along with the rest of the clothing. The hunter watches the trembling boy lying in front of him, his eyes once again shielded by his arms. Sighing, the hunter removes Alan's arms again and holds them at the boy's sides. The two stare at each other, their eyes locked on one another's faces. Tears continue to flow down Alan's face in a steady stream. For a moment the hunter regrets his decision of taking this kid. He did not think he would cry this much so soon. Crying is something that the hunter finds terribly annoying. Maybe this one is too young, the hunter thinks to himself. He runs a hand down Alan's bare chest, stopping at his boxer line. Alan shivers.

"Please don't," he says in almost a whisper. The hunter makes eye contact with him again. "Please."

Silly child, the hunter thinks. He actually believes that he has a say in this.

"Sorry, Sweet-heart," the hunter says, grinning viciously. "I have been waiting for this for far too long. Now you can make this easier on yourself by playing along, or you can be stupid and try to fight me. Either way, you're mine." With that, the hunter removes the last article of Alan's clothing, pulls the boy by his legs into position, and forces himself upon the child without any preparation or warning. Alan cries out at the new and intense pain and tries to move himself back to escape what is hurting him. The hunter grabs Alan's hands and holds on to them near the sides of Alan's face. He rubs the side of Alan's hand with his thumb in a useless gesture of comfort. The hunter draws back a bit before thrusting into the boy again. Alan gasps in pain as he pain hits him again. The hunter shudders in pure pleasure at the sound. All regrets about choosing Alan fade as he continues to thrust in and out, picking up speed each time. It's better than the hunter had expected. He's so tight, and warm with life. He can hear the boy's short shuttering gasps of air, and feel the little hands clench his own larger ones, rigid with hurt. The hunter squeezes back causing more blood to flow from Alan's wound. He can feel blood starting to seep from Alan's lower regions. The smell mixed with the blood from Alan's hand over powers the hunter's nostrils causing his own blood flow to speed up. The metallic smell is delicious, and the hunter craves more. He sees himself taking his knife and slicing the blade across the boy's jugular; the beautiful crimson liquid flowing out as the he chokes on his own life source.

Alan tries his best to focus on something besides his current situation. He concentrates on listening to the rain outsides, trying to guess just how many droplets were hitting against the window. He wonders what Edgar and Sam are doing right now. He wishes that he had listened to Edgar and gone with them, or had accepted Michael's offer of a ride home. If he did then he would not be here now; trapped in some house that he does not know while some insane man fucks him. This is the worst thing ever, he says mentally. Alan whimpers as the man rams into him again. He can feel the other staring at him. The intensity of it makes him feel ill. Please let this be over with, Alan prays to no one.

It ends several grueling moments later with the hunter releasing himself and rolling off the child, leaving Alan shaking and cowering. His sobs have now turned into quiet whimpers. The elder gets off the bed, picks up his own clothes, and tosses Alan his. They land on top of him, but Alan makes no move to put them on. He lies still, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The hunter watches him closely as he dresses. He has mixed feelings about the rabbit's behavior. He is pleased that it seems the boy has given up, but is slightly disappointed that he was broken so easily. He needs something to wake up, the hunter tells himself.

"I'm going downstairs for a bit," the hunter says as he puts on his shirt. "You stay put. You can get dressed if you like, though." The hunter pauses, waiting for a response. Alan continues to stare at the water damaged ceiling. As much as he would love to put his clothes back on, Alan cannot muster the energy to move himself to do so. His entire body hurts far too much. The hunter sighs as he finishes up his last button, and picks up the clothing off of Alan. "Children are so helpless," he says mostly to himself. Quickly, he dresses the boy, with no help from Alan, and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Stay here," the hunter repeats, knowing full well that Alan wasn't going anywhere. Before leaving, the man leans over and lightly kisses Alan on the lips. Disappointed by the lack of reaction, the hunter gets up and heads to the door. Alan remains still even as he hears the door shut and the sound of feet going down the staircase. His eye feel sore and worn out from crying. His eye lids slowly fall, allowing himself to fall asleep. Nothing feels better than this.

* * *

Michael pulls into the driveway of his family's home with both Sam and Edgar still in the car. They had spent the last hour covering the boardwalk and going back to the Frog house, but they found no sign of Alan. By one o'clock Michael was ready to call the search off and get Sam back home before this mom had a panic attack and calls the police, if she had not already. Sam asked if Edgar could stay until they found Alan, and since Michael knew it would make his brother feel better and not wanting to lose the other Frog brother on his watch, he agreed.

Sam has nearly been taken over by sleep, and looks like he is about to pass out at any moment. Michael parks the car, and the three get out and head to the front door. Sam follows beside Michael and leans over to rest his head against his brother's shoulder. Michael slings an arm around Sam's neck, pulling him close as they walked up the steps. Edgar follows behind, looking much more alert than the Emerson boys. Personally, he was not to keen on the idea of going to Sam's house, but, even though he will not openly admit it, it was better than staying home alone.

Michael was not surprised when he sees his mother is still up and waiting for them. Lucy sits in her pajamas and robe with a book lying open in her lap. This is later than she normally stays up, but it is no problem staying awake when one is running on anger. It is nearly a quarter past one by the time she hears the door open. Lucy waits patiently for her boys to walk in so that she can being scolding Slowly, Michael walks into the living room still holding onto Sam as a shield with Edgar tagging along still behind them. The three stop a little ways in front of the door frame, and wait for Lucy to begin talking. Judging by the look on her face it was not going to be good, Michael guessed.

"Do you have any idea how late it is?" Lucy begins. None of the three boys answer, figuring it would safer to stay quiet. "I know you like to stay out all night, Michael, but Sam is still too young. He needs to be home at a certain time, and I thought you were responsible enough-."

"I know, but Mom," Michael cuts in.

"There is no excuse for it," Lucy says completely ignoring him. "I specifically said-."

"Mom," Sam tries this time.

"Not now, Sammy."

"Mom!"

Lucy closes her eyes, trying to hold on to her last bit of patience. "What, Sam? What is it?"

"We can't find Alan."

"What do you mean you can't find Alan?"

"He stayed at the store to close up while Edgar and I got ice-cream, and when we got back he wasn't there," Sam explained. "We looked all over for him. Michael helped. That's why we're late."

"I saw him earlier," Michael said adding into the story. "I was taking Star home and we saw him walking. We asked if he wanted a rude, but he said he didn't need once since he lived close. We checked their house twice and he wasn't there."

Lucy paused, taking in the story. For the first time she notices Edgar standing off to the side of Sam. She found it peculiar to see one Frog brother without the other. Panic started to settle upon her. This is defiantly not good, not good at all. "Are you sure you checked everywhere?" she asks. The boys nod. "What did his parents say? Did you talk to them?"

"Well," Sam says slowly, looking over at Edgar. "They were kind of out of it."

Lucy immediately understood. She had met the Frog parents on one of two occasions, and quite frankly was not very impressed with them. The four sit in silence, waiting for a plan of what to do next. "Why don't you go to bed," Lucy finally says. "Edgar, honey, you can stay here tonight. Call you parents, though, just so they have an idea here you are."

"But what about Alan?" Sam asks.

"Don't worry, Sweetie. I'll take care of it. Go show Edgar where the phone is."

Michael and Lucy watch Sam and Edgar, waiting to talk after the two boys left. "What should we do now?" Michael asks.

Lucy sits still, lost in her thoughts. "I'm going to have to call the police," she says, speaking them. "Alan doesn't seem the type to go off like that, especially without Edgar." Michael nods in agreement. "Why don't you go check on the boys; make sure they're alright."

Michael nods again without saying anything. He finds Sam and Edgar standing by the phone in the kitchen. Neither of them is talking. "Mom says you need to go to bed," Michael says as he walks towards them.

Sam looks over at Michael. "Where do you think he is, Mike?" he asks, avoiding his brother's statement. Michael shrugs in response.

"It's probably vampires," Edgar says gravely. He stares at nothing in particular, trying to avoid looking at the Emerson brothers.

"Why would it be vampires?" Sam asks.

"Everyone knows that over half of the disappearances here are vampire related."

"Why would a vampire want Alan? You know, it could have been a person. Not everything is about vampires."

"Blood," Edgar answers with no sort of emotion. "Vampires don't care where it comes from just as long as they get it. Why would a hum want Alan?"

Michael closes his eyes and run his hands through his hair, trying not to think of all the possible horrid things a human could be doing Alan. There are some monsters worse than the one that lurk at night in search of blood, or the ones that hide under your bed to eat you while you sleep. Sometimes the scariest of monsters living amongst us, unknown to its neighbors until the monster decides to strike.

"Come on. You guys need to get going," Michael says. Reluctantly, Sam and Edgar go upstairs with Michael following behind. "Edgar can stay in your room, and you can stay in mine, Sam."

Sam looks back. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"I'll take the couch," Michael says. "I'm probably going back our, though. Mom should be downstairs if you need anything."

Sam and Edgar hesitate before going into the bedrooms. Both do not want to go to bed, and knew that falling asleep was going to take a lot of effort. Edgar went first to go, no longer being able to stand the awkward silence. Sam turns to face Michael. "What do you think happened?" he asks again. He keeps his voice low, not wanting Edgar to hear.

"I don't know, Buddy," Michael says, shaking his head. "You need to go to bed."

Sam continues to stall. "Do you have to go, Mike? Can't you stay here?"

"No, Sammy. I need to back out and-." Michael pauses in mid statement, and looks at his younger brother. Sam is obviously tired, and Michael notices tears starting to form in his brother's eyes. Sam would deny it if Michael said anything, but he could tell his Sam is scared. Sighing, Michael opens the door and leads Sam inside. "I'm only going to stay for a little bit," he tells his brother. Sam crawls into bed with his day clothes still on. Michael joins him on the other side, not bothering to get under the covers, and turns off the bedside lamp. The silence barely reaches two minutes length of time before Sam starts talking again.

"Do you think he's ok?"

Michael turns his head to face his brother. He can only make out the outline of some of his features in the dark. Going by logic, Michael knows that there is a very slim chance that Alan is perfectly fine right now. In Michael's opinion he is probably better off dead than having to go through sick things that could be done to him. But Michael did not have the heart; or rather lack of, to tell his baby brother this. So instead he tells him a lie. "I'm sure he's ok," Michael answers. "Mom's calling the police. They'll be out looking for him."

"And they'll find him?"

"The will," Michael concludes. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. Alan will be back by tomorrow. But you need to get some sleep."

With a sigh, Sam turns away from Michael and finally complies with his order. It is not long before Michael hears Sam's breathing steady into the rhythm of sleep. He moves carefully, not wanting to wake Sam, and quietly exits the room.

When he reaches the living room he finds that his mother is still there, now dressed in her regular clothing. "I'm going out," he informs her as he heads for the door.

"For what?"

"To look for Alan."

"You can't go, Michael."

Michael turns around with his hand still on the door knob. "Why?"

"It's late, and I just don't want you going out."

"But I've got to find him," Michael says, his frustration growing with each word.

"I know you want to, Sweetie, but I called the police and they will be out looking for him. You need to get some rest. They will probably want to talk to you too." Michael slowly turns the knob as he considers this. "Sam probably would like it if you were around," Lucy adds.

Michael mentally curses her for pulling the brother card, and sulks over to join his mother on the couch. He flops down beside her, sighing as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holds his head in his hands. "What now?"

"Well," Lucy says slowly forming her words. "I suppose the only thing we can do now is wait and hope for the best."

Michael grinds his teeth together. There are very few things worse than waiting during situations like this. "I can't just sit here and wait. You know what could-."

"I know," Lucy interrupts. "I know, and I don't even want to think about it. But you've already done enough for tonight. Stay home with us and let the police take over for a bit."

Michael straightens up and looks over at his mother. "I just say him an hour ago," he says, "I should have just taken him home like Star said."

"Oh, Michael!" Lucy leans over and hugs her eldest son, her head resting on his shoulder. "It's not your fault. Don't worry; I'm sure Alan is just fine. We'll find him." Michael leans into the hug, and the two remain sitting like this as they wait for the police to arrive. They both knew what she said is probably false, but any sort of false hope is better than the truth.

* * *

At the moment Alan truly is fine. He no longer feels pain now that he is has been numbed by sleep. His mind has shut itself off from the terrible experience he has just gone through. Everything is ok now. This is how the hunter finds him; fast asleep on the naked mattress in the same position he was left in. the hunter smiles as he walks over to the bed. In his hands he cares a shallow pan willed with a white substance. He would love to sit and watch the dear rabbit sleep longer, but there are things that need to be done. He sets the pan onto the bedside table and sits down beside the slumbering boy. He gently shakes Alan, coaxing him out of sleep. Alan grumbles and flips over on to his side to get away. That was not a good idea. The pain that came from the movement shocks him in to being fully conscious, and he begins to whimper again.

"It's ok, baby," the hunter says as he pulls Alan into his lap. He crosses his arms around Alan, pulling him closer as he rocks the boy back and forth. As he continues rocking, he picks up Alan's founded hand and examines it. The bleeding has nearly subsided. Alan bites his bottom lip as the man presses down on his hand, causing more blood to flow. "I've got something that will help that," the hunter says. He leans over and grabs the pan off the table and places it on Alan's lap. Alan watches as the man guides his hand over the pan, and then messes it down into the white substance. Aland slides back in pain, kicking his feet against the hunter's legs in the process. The salt stings terribly as it is driven into the open cut. Alan's eyes begin to tear up again.

"Stop," he cries. "Please stop." He tries to pull his hand back, but the hunter keeps a stead hold, and tightens the grip around Alan's middle. He presses the hand down harder each time Alan begs him to stop. Please and stop; such a fun game! It has always been one of the hunter's favorites. Every time one of his preys would ask him to stop or would say please he further he would go. Alan thrashes his legs in attempt to knock the pan off. He manages to move it sideways, letting it sleep between both of their legs and the letting the salt spill onto the mattress. The hunter moves causing more blood speckled salt to fall out. He curses at the mess being made. He looks down at Alan, who has his wounded palm to his mouth, trying to suck some of the salt out of the cut to make it hurt less. The hunter sighs and settles Alan next to him as he once again gets off the bed. Alan does not have to be told again not to move. He sits with his knees drawn to his chest as he watches the man walk around the room to a pale green dresser. The boy continues to suck on his hand. The taste of his own blood makes him slightly nauseous, but the action was oddly comforting to him. The hunter goes through the second drawer, and pulls out a roll of some sort of off white material. Alan suspects that he will be bound once again.

The hunter returns to his spot on the bed, and pulls the boy back into his lap. He pulls Alan's hand away from his mouth having to use a decent amount of force. "That's not very sanitary," he informs the child as he examines the hand. The area around the cut is red partially from the sucking, and some blood still continues to flow from the X. The hunter takes the cloth and begins to wrap it tightly around the wound. Alan leans back against the man's chest and watches with interest with his tear-filled eyes as his hand is skillfully bandaged. It feels a bit tight, but now hurts a little less. The hunter wraps his arms around Alan's body, bringing him into a full hug. He is starting to feel tired. It has been a long and eventful night. Closing his eyes, the hunter rests his head on top of Alan's, and brings them down into a laying position. He nuzzles his face in Alan's hair, pulling him closer into his body as he spoons the boy. Alan stares at the wall feeling completely awkward be in this position. Being cuddled is not something he is used to, especially by someone he considers a crazy person.

"Can I go home now?" Alan asks quietly.

The hunter rubs his face against Alan's hair again. His eyes are closed and he smiles, perfectly happy to be in this moment. "Do you miss your mommy?" he asks in a patronizing way. Alan slowly nods. Well, that is exactly how he would put it. It's rather hard to miss someone that is not completely there most of the time. He does miss his brother, though. This would be the first night they have spent apart. He wonders what Edgar is doing, hoping that he is looking for him.

The hunter yawns. "You need to stay here," he says. "She doesn't want you. They would have come for you by now if they did." Alan adjusts himself a bit as he considers this. It was unlikely that his parents would have started a search for him, of course, but there is still Edgar. And Sam too; he would care enough to look for Alan. Sam would probably make his mom and brother help, too. Alan feels the man's breathing become more relaxed and consistent. He has fallen asleep. He considers using this time to escape, but he knows that it not a very good plan. The chances of being able to slip away without waking the other was very slim, and the aftermath of a failed escape would not be good. Also, his body hurts too much to move and he would probably not make it very far. Alan sighs as he closes his eyes. It looks like he is stuck here for the night. Hopefully by the morning Edgar would have found and saved him. Alan tries to imagine his brother fighting his kidnapper. It probably would not end well for Edgar. Sure he is a tough kid, but this psycho is a lot bigger than him. Edgar could easily over power even with his weapons. The hunter would win in both strength and weapons. Alan figures his best chances of being rescued are with Michael. He doesn't think Michael likes him very much, but Sammy would make him do it, or at least Alan hopes so. Michael would be big enough to take on the hunter. He will save him, Alan thinks as he tries to relax in the hunter's arms. Michael will save him, and then Alan can go back home and sleep forever. He plays the scenario over in his mind, hoping that it would put it at peace enough to allow him for sleep. Slowly Alan starts to feel his thoughts blur, and he falls into a deep state of sleep.

* * *

**I reached over 6,000 words this time, and I am quite proud of myself. Haha. I'm a loser; these sorts of things please me. I feel terrible for having to do that to Alan, but, well that is kind of expected when someone falls into the hands of a crazy person. I have already started the next chapter, and have that one and another planned out, so the next update should be around next Sunday. I think Sunday will become my update day. Haha. **

**Also, thank you for all of the lovely reviews! I'm a bit surprised by all of the feedback so far. So, thank you again; you guys are awesome!:D **


	5. Chapter Five

The Hunter

Chapter Five

Michael has been sitting in the police department for a good half hour now. He had been called in during the mid hours of the morning for questioning despite the fact of already having gone through the process the night before. He slouches a bit in his chair; arms lying crossed his chest as he watches the two officers sitting across from him. They are a ridiculous pair. One resembles a weasel with a long, thin body and a rounded snout on where his glasses are perched. He constantly flips through a folder, his beady eyes scanning the pages as he pretends to be preoccupied with much more important matters. The other looks more like ornery pig that was dressed up in a police officer uniform as a gag. A constant scowl is gouged into his face, and he glares at Michael in a way he believes to be intimidating. If any officer to be kicked off the force for going rouge and beating the crap out of someone it would be this guy. He asks Michael the same question he has asked ten times before: Where is he?

"I told you already; I don't know," Michael replies.

The officer scrunches his pig nose to show his displeasure. "Don't lie to me, boy. You were the last person to see that kid. Now tell me what did you do with him?"

"Why would I want to take my brother's friend?"

"I don't know," the man says, leaning onto the table. "You tell me."

Michael scowls back at the man. "What are you implying?"

"Nothin'. I was just wondering why you would-."

"Look," Michael interrupts. His voice becomes strained as he tries to contain his growing anger. "I would never do anything to hurt Alan; ever. The last time I saw him he was perfectly fine. You can even ask my girlfriend. We saw him walking home. We asked him if he wanted a ride, and he said no. I don't know where he is or who took him or what happened to him after that."

The officer slowly leans back into his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest to show is his disbelief of Michael's story. The weasel takes a moment away from his file browsing to glance at the other two men. "Well, see here," the pig says. A smug grin begins to replace the scowl with each word he speaks. Michael clenches his jaw. Ornery little bastard, he thinks.

"I've got evidence saying other otherwise."

"That's pretty weird considering I didn't do anything," Michael says.

The officer scoffs. "Bill, show him."

The weasel pauses and then goes digging through his folder, nodding his head at each quick page turn. Michael watches as he takes a page and passes it over to the pig. He waits patiently as the man reads the paper. The pig's brow scrunches up as he reads it silently to himself. Michael is about to cut in when he is stopped by a loud thumping noise. He looks around, trying to find the source. The other two men do not seem to be bothered by it. Michael is about to brush the incident off when he hears the pounding noise again.

"Michael!"

Startled, Michael twists around in his chair and faces the door. He sees a hand pressed up against the glass of the window midway on the door. Almost immediately he recognizes the voice. His heart leaps in his chest as he scrambles over to the door. "Alan!" Michael exclaims. He has never been so glad to see that weird little kid in his life. Hell, he will probably hug him as soon as he gets the chance. Michael reaches the door and pulls on the knob. It's locked. Michael frowns at it, feeling confused.

"Michael," Alan cries from behind the door, hitting the glass again. "Please open the door, Michael. Please." For the first time Michael really looks at Alan. His right cheek bone sports a dark and shiny bruise. Tears streak through his dirt covered face mixing in with a river of blood spouting from his nose. Some of the blood as already dried and crusted over. His eyes look wild with fear as he continues to beat on the glass, smearing it with blood and grease. His thin wrists have been rubbed raw from whatever held them before. Michael takes a step back, frightened by the sight of the beaten child.

"Michael, please," Alan sobs again. He turns his head the side, looking down the hallway. Michael notices a small trail of blood leaking from his ear. He also tries to look down the hallway, but it is too hard to see anything from his position. Once again Michael tires to open the door, but holds steady.

"Hey," Michael shouts to the two other men. "Your door is locked. He turns around to see the officers are still sitting there completely unaware of what was going on. "Hey!" Michael shouts again to try to get their attention. The pig continues to aggressively argue with the chair Michael was once sitting in while the weasel picks lint off of his shirt. Michael storms back to the table. "Can't you guys see him? Your stupid door-."

"Michael!"

Michael turns around to face Alan, and then back to the officers. Sighing loudly, he heads back to the door. "I will just have to take care of this myself."

"Michael! Please hurry! I don't-."

"I know, Buddy," Michael says as calmly as he can manage. "Don't worry. I'm coming to get you." He twists the knob harder. "Stupid fucking door!" he screams as he kicks it.

"Michael, please. It hurts. I don't want to-."

"I know," Michael cuts in. He is fully aware that the poor kid is scared, but Michael needs him to shut up for a moment so that he can think. "Just hold tight. I'll have you safe in no time." He fights with the door again, cursing furiously at it. What is wrong with this thing, he wonders.

"Michael."

Michael looks back up and is ready to tell Alan he needs to be quiet when he sees the boy looking down the hallway again. Alan takes a step back like he is preparing himself to run. Michael presses up against the glass again, trying to see what Alan is looking at. "What? What is it?"

Alan turns his head back to face Michael, looking him dead in the eyes. Michael's heart aches at the sight of the tears flooding down the boy's bloody face. He wishes he could melt through the door, swoop the child up in his arms, and carry him off to a place where he is safe from this messed up world. This is so fucked up, he thinks. Alan begins babbling again, and Michael can barely make out what he is saying through all of the sobbing.

"Let me in, Michael. I don't want to go back. It hurts so much, Michael. I want to go home. Please take me home, Michael. Please. It hurts."

Michael runs his hands through his hair, unsure of what to do now. He closes his eyes tightly and tries to think. If only- of course! That's it! Why had he not thought of that earlier?

"Michael!" Alan screams again.

Michael opens his eyes to see two large hands pulling on Alan's arm. Michael tries to look through the glass to see what has a hold of Alan but cannot make out much beyond the smears of blood. He can only see Alan struggling against the hands. "Jesus Christ!" Michael yells. He looks back at the two officers. They continue interrogating empty chair.

"Michael!" Alan cries again as he is pulled away. Michael pounds his fists against the glass as hard as he can to break it. He keeps trying, striking harder with each blow.

"Michael!"

His knuckles begin to swell. "God damn it," Michael swears to himself. He pauses for a second to suck on his knuckles. This is useless, he thinks. There is no way the door is going to open, and once again he has failed Alan. Michael closes his eyes and twists his finger in his curls, tugging on them in frustration.

When he opens his eyes he finds himself lying on the living room couch half covered by a blanket. He sits up on his elbows and looks around. Everything looks normal; no policemen, no blood covered door, no Alan. It was only a dream. Sighing, Michael sinks back down into the couch and covers his eyes. He questions if all of the other events from the previous night had been an illusion as well. Michael gets up and leaves the room in search of his brother. He finds Sam sitting at the kitchen table with Edgar; no Alan. Michael's heart sinks a little. So it was real.

Sam looks up from his cereal as he hears someone walk in. He feels slightly disappointed when he sees that it is only Michael. "Mom's gone," he informs his brother as Michael sits down.

"Any news?" Michael asks. He sighs loudly and buries his face in his hands once Sam shakes his head. "What time is it?"

Sam shrugs. "Past noon."

Michael sets his hands down on the table. "I'm going to go," he says. "You guys will be fine by yourselves, right?"

"Mom says you have to stay here," Sam says. "We as in you too."

"I can't stay, Sammy."

"But Mom-."

"I'm coming too," Edgar says jumping out of his chair and follows Michael.

Sam looks at both of them and lets out of a sigh of defeat. "Me too," he says slowly getting up.

* * *

It is rather early when Alan begins to wake up; much earlier than he is accustomed to. He lies still expecting to find himself once again restrained by something or someone. The boy is in luck; there is nothing holding him down. He is surprised to find himself lying face down, alone, on the cool mattress. Slowly, he turns himself over and carefully brings himself into a sitting position. He grimaces at the soreness of his body. Yes, he is alone. There is no sign of that dreadful man. Alan slides to the edge of the mattress and lowers his feet onto the cold wooden floor. This would be a good time to escape, he thinks. Better get out before that sex-manic comes back again. He stands up and steadies himself as he begins to wobble. He takes a step forward, and the floorboard creaks under his weight. He pauses before taking another step. The floor cries out again as he sets his foot down. Alan pauses again, waiting to hear if the man had heard and was flying at the stairs, ready to kill him.

If he was not caught by the squeaking boards, the man will surely return before Alan even makes it out of the door. The process was taking much longer than planned with all of the extra pauses for listening and resting from pain. Alan eventually makes it to the door, and turns the knob with great caution, slowly pushing the door open. It also creaks. Alan quickly pulls it back, hoping no one had heard. "Fuck old houses," he mumbles to himself. He counts to thirty as he waits for the hunter to come. When he doesn't, Alan tries again, this time opening it only far enough for him to barely slip through. Before leaving he checks the hallway. The coast is clear; it is safe to leave.

Alan tiptoes through the narrow hall to the staircase that leads straight to the front door. He smiles to himself. Things are starting to look up for him. Maybe escaping would be as easy as walking down the stairs and right out of the house. He waits at the top of the stairs, listening intently for any noise. Alan can hear two voices not far off. One is the man's. The other, a much higher and shriller voice, is unrecognizable. He would have to be careful not to draw any attention to himself. Alan grabs onto the railing, and slowly lets his foot down on the first stair, holding his breath as he it. Even under his full weight it does not make a noise. Alan exhales, feeling relieved. He tries the next, and the next, and the next. All remain silent. It isn't until he has only four steps does one stair gives out, screaming bloody murder and Alan steps fully on it. "Fuck," Alan curses soundlessly as he clutches the railing tighter. Fuck indeed, for as soon as the creaking ceases Alan hears the voice of the hunter excusing himself and heavy footsteps coming towards his location. His brain tells him to run, but his trembling body keeps him in place. His little heart begins to beat rapidly as he waits for the moment to arrive.

The hunter steps into view and smiles at Alan. "Good morning!" he says brightly. "I didn't think that you would be up this early." The hunter looks at Alan's hands, noticing his tight, rigid grip on the railing. He smirks. There are few things better than seeing the look of something that knows it has just been caught.

"Are you hungry?" the hunter asks as he walks up the stairs. Alan takes a step back to lengthen the distance between the man and himself. The hunter reaches Alan, and takes his face into his hands, gently tilting it upwards to face him. Standing at 6'4, the hunter towers over the boy by a little more than a foot. Alan stifles a sob as the hunter caresses his face. "We have breakfast ready."

"I'm not hungry," Alan says, pulling away.

"Of course you are!" the hunter exclaims. He takes Alan's bandaged hand. "Come on! I'm sure you eat over half of your house. Most kids your age do." The hunter gently pulls on Alan's hand, bringing him down a step. Alan winces as he is lead down the stairs. The hunter glances down at him.

"Are you alright, Alan?" he asks. Alan cringes at the use of his name. He despises how the man says it; so hungry with desire.

"I'm fine," Alan mumbles. He keeps his eyes on the floor as the hunter takes him into another room.

It is a kitchen much like the one in his home. As the hunter leads him to a small square table, Alan notices that there is also a woman in the room. She stands at the sink, furiously scrubbing away at some pot. She is a stout, plump woman with dry blond hair that is pulled into a sloppy bun at the top of her head. A few long strands have slipped down and jerking back and forth with her harsh movements. Alan can hear her whispering angrily to herself in a paranoid sort of way. It makes him feel nervous.

The hunter sits the boy down in an empty chair. He claims one for himself, moving it so that he can sit close to Alan. He watches Alan eyeing the woman. "That's Kim," he says talking just as brightly as before. "She's my sister."

The woman, Kim, spins around. She still holds onto the soapy sponge, letting the dirty water drip onto the floor. Kim looks at her brother and then at Alan. Kim scowls, her jaw clenching in anger at the sight of him. "What did I tell you about bringing your trash in here, Brad?" she squawks.

Trash? Brad? What is this woman talking about? Alan looks up at the hunter. He never thought of the man having a name. Brad, he repeats in his mind. How odd.

The hunter scowls back, and places a protective arm around Alan. "He's not trash."

Kim rolls her eyes. "Call it what you want," she says shaking the sponge at him. "But you better hope no one catches you. Just imagine what the neighbors will say if they find out you're raping children."

The hunter snorts. "Please! You would be lucky if they haven't been talking about you and your lack of sanity yet." He looks down at the boy. "Pay no attention to her," he says, rubbing the back of Alan's head. "She's crazy." Alan watches the odd woman, who has turned back to the sink again, wondering how in the world he ended up in his mad house. He feels something push up against his leg. Alan looks underneath the table. There sits a cat staring back at him. It's a large animal; grossly overweight with thick black and white fur. It blinks its golden eyes at Alan and slinks out from under the table at a sluggish speed. The cat leaps on the table causing Alan to jump a bit in his seat, feeling taken aback by the amount of noise the animal caused. He stares at the creature in awe. This has to be the biggest cat he has ever seen. The feline saunters over to Alan and nudges its head against him with quite a bit of force.

"Buttons, get off, you damned cat," the hunter says as he shoos the animal. The cat ducks down and hisses at the hunter, but remains on the table.

"Don't tell him what to do!" Kim yells from the sink. "He has every right to be here."

"You can't have that thing walking all over the place. It's disgusting."

"It's my home, and Buttons and I will do what we please. You're lucky that I even let you stay here with you bringing all of this evil into my home; kidnapping peoples' babies and raping them. You're lucky they haven't caught you yet. I sure do hope they will. It'd defiantly get you out of my hair. Hell, I should call the police right now and get your stupid ass out of here."

"You wouldn't call the police on me," the hunter says as he reaches for the newspaper.

"I know," Kim replies in a much softer tone.

Alan sits quietly, feeling awkward for having to hear the two siblings argue. The hunter pushes a rectangular box towards the boy's direction. "Eat," he orders. Alan peers at the contents of the box; donuts. Just the thought of them makes his stomach feel queasy.

Alan shakes his head. I'm not hungry," he says quietly.

The hunter glances at Alan. "Eat."

"I-."

"Just eat the damned things!" Kim screeches. Alan jumps in his seat, startled by the woman's outburst. He looks towards the hunter for help, but he is too engrossed with whatever he is reading. Alan looks back at the box of donuts. He reaches forward gingerly, and selects one at random. He takes a small bite, forcing himself to chew it well enough to swallow. The sickly sweet taste attacks his mouth, and Alan fights the urge to spit it back out. He forces down the half chewed morsel before taking another bite. A hand crawls up his leg and begins rubbing it. Alan stops chewing and lets the donut sit in his mouth. The hunter continues reading as he keeps touching the boy. Alan closes his eyes and does his best to focus on finishing his breakfast. He manages to eat a little over a half of the donut when the hunter got up and ordered Alan to follow.

The hunter takes him up back upstairs and into the bedroom. Alan enters first. His heart drops once he hears the man lock the door. He stands in place as the hunter goes over to the bed and sits down. "Come here," he says.

Alan leans up against the wall to help support his aching body. "I want to go home."

"Get over here," the hunter growls. Alan bites his lower lip, hesitating before complying with the man's orders. The hunter stands up as the boy comes closer, and stops Alan in front of him, holding him by the shoulders. He runs his thumbs against Alan's neck, thinking about the lovely noise it would make if ever chose to snap it. The hunter lets go of Alan and begins to remove his pants. Alan looks off to the side as the man undresses himself. This is something too personal that he does not wish to see. The springs of the mattress creak as the hunter sits on the edge of the bed again. "Get on your knees," he says. Alan does what he is told and sinks down on the floor before the hunter. His knees ache as soon as they touch the hardwood floors. He comes to eye contact with the man's penis. Alan grimaces at the sight. He wonders how anyone could get excited over anything like that.

"Touch it," the man says. Alan shakes his head. There is no way this guy is going to make him touch that. He closes his eyes, wishing that it was enough to make it all go away. "Alan." He can hear the smile in the man's voice as he speaks his name. The hunter finds this situation amusing. How cute and shy is little rabbit is. He takes Alan's hands and forces the boy to help masturbate him. Alan gives up control of his hands and lets the hunter do the work for him. The soft flesh begins to change in his hands, hardening as the hunter guides him through the process. Alan cracks open an eye and peers at the hunter. He seems to be caught in some sort of trance. This fascinates Alan.

The hunter grunts and looks down at Alan. "Put it in your mouth."

Alan makes a face. In his mouth? What is wrong with this guy? "No."

"Don't worry," the hunter says as he forces a grin. "It's clean."

The cleanliness of the man's penis was the last thing on Alan's mind. The general idea of the act was repulsive to him. "No."

The hunter grinds his teeth as he continues to work Alan's hands. "Tell you what, kiddo," he says as his breathing picks up. "If you do a good job with this, I'll take you home."

Alan quietly considers the offer. He's probably lying, Alan thinks. He won't take one blow job and let me go. But then again, what if he's not?

The elder becomes impatient with waiting for an answer so he takes matters into his own hands. He grabs at Alan's jaw and begins to pry it open. Alan struggles for a moment, but then gives in knowing fighting it would do him no good. He shuts his eyes tightly as the man enters his mouth. Right away Alan gags, and tries to push away but the hunter holds him tightly by his hair.

"You've never done this before, have you?" the hunter asks. "That's alright. I'll teach you. I have always liked being a teacher." He gives the boy explicit instructions on what he wants done, and Alan follows each one to the best of his ability, hoping that it will be his ticket to freedom. The hunter keeps his fingers twisted in Alan's hair, pulling at the dark locks. Alan does the best to ignore the pain by focusing on his duty. What would Edgar think if he ever found out about this? Alan wonders. Or the kids at school. That would be great. Not only will he be known as one of the freaky Frog brothers that is obsessed with comics and vampires, but he will also have the new title as the kid who sucked some old guy's dick. Maybe he should drop out before school even starts and save himself the humiliation.

The hunter lets out a deep moan of pleasure as he continues to fuck the child's mouth. Alan grimaces at the sounds the man is making. How anyone could find this action sexy is beyond his knowledge. With one last shuttering groan, the hunter shoots his hot seed into Alan's mouth. Alan gags at the taste of it. The hunter pants heavily, and finally removes himself from the boy's mouth. Alan darts his eyes around looking for a place to spit out the semen. Before he can the hunter places a hand over his mouth. "Swallow it."

Alan shakes his head in refusal. He has already done more than he had planned. There is no way he is eating this guy's cum.

"Swallow," the hunter demands. He pushes harder on Alan's mouth, nearly knocking him onto his backside. "Now."

Alan's nose begins to sting as tears begin to fill his eyes. God damn it he is crying again. What is wrong with him? Alan manages to force himself to swallow a bit, mostly to be rid of the vile substance. He gags as it slides down his throat. It is all too much; the pain, the constant sobbing, the fact that he is being forced to eat semen.

His stomach turns violently, and the contents of his stomach shoot up, burning his esophagus and mouth. Alan jerks back from the hunter's grasp as his cheeks fill with vomit, and releases is onto the floor. The semen mixed with stomach acid and the partially digested donut spills onto Alan's shirt as well as the hunter's bare feet. Alan keeps his eyes cast down on the floor, too afraid to look up at the man. Using the back of his bandage free hand, he wipes away some vomit left on his mouth. The hunter looks from the crying boy, to his now soiled feet, and back at the boy. "Such a mess," he says, feeling very annoyed. With a loud sigh, he gets up from the bed and stands Alan on his feet. He lightly pats the boy on the back, careful not to get anymore vomit on himself. "You're fine," he says without sympathy. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

The hunter leads Alan across the room to the bathroom next door. He struggles to open the door with one hand as he uses the other to try to support the shaken child. Inside, he helps Alan strip from his soiled clothing and tosses them on top of a wicker hamper. "Let's take a shower," he says as he removes his own clothes. "You are extremely dirty."

Alan fidgets nervously, feeling uncomfortable with being naked in front of another, and says quietly, "You said I can go home now."

"I did," the hunter agrees, removing his last article of clothing. "I said that if you did a good job then you could go home. But sadly, my boy, you didn't."

"But I-."

"You did not swallow like I told you to, Alan. But don't you worry about it. You are more than welcomed to stay here."

Alan ducks his head. The tiles of the floor blur as his eyes become blinded by tears. "I didn't try to," he says in almost a whisper.

The hunter pulls him into a hug, and Alan shivers at the feeling of their bare skins touching. "It's alright. Let's take a shower. Will you be needing help with that too?" Alan says nothing as the hunter drags him over to the shower and lifts him into the tub. Hot water pours down from the shower. Alan lays his soaking head against the man's chest as the water falls on his back. The burning temperature of the water soothes his aching body. Alan allows his mind to wander as the hunter runs a washcloth over him, humming as he does so. He hates this terrible man that will not leave him be. He hates him almost as much he despises himself for allowing it to happen.

After the shower, the two return to the bedroom. The hunter directs Alan over to the bed, leaving him there as he goes to find something to substitute for Alan's vomit covered shirt. Luckily for Alan his jeans were clean enough to use, and was able to at least put his pants back on. The hunter rummages through the middle drawer of his dresser, finally pulling out a grungy white t-shirt. He eyes it over. It will serve its purpose.

Although it is not even noon yet Alan is exhausted. He lies face down with his face buried into the scratchy surface of the mattress, breathing in its mothball smell. The hunter joins him on the bed, tossing the shirt aside. He runs a hand against the bare skin of Alan's back. "You are always so tense." Alan's body goes rigid as the other begins to rub his neck. "You need to learn how to relax. I don't understand why you are so upset with me, Alan. I have given you so much more than you had before and you don't seem to care." The hunter sighs. "No, not one bit."

He continues to massage Alan's neck. His mind begins to buzz as he works at the tight knotted muscles. Thoughts melting together as he reaches around and feels the ringed bones of the esophagus. How easy it would be to ring this pretty little neck right now. "But don't worry about it," the hunter says as he climbs on top of Alan. "I'll make you feel better."

* * *

The Dead Rat is a bar notorious for its late night party atmosphere and rowdy customers. For this reason Michael was not pleased when Star had first applied for a job there, but being tight on money and lack of places hiring Star welcomed the idea of being an employee of The Dead Rat. On a typical night Star serves people from all walks of life. The early hours of the evening are occupied by mostly laborers; good natured men stopping by to unwind with a drink before returning home. Star does not mind working during this time. It is quiet since the men rarely spoke unless it was to order a drink. She also did not have to worry about some drunk trying to hit on her.

As the night grows older the easy going customers filter out and a much different group comes in. They are all the same; young, wild, and thirsty for alcohol and a good time. Their bodies are covered with piercing and tattoos, testaments of their desire to be noticed. Girls dress in miniskirts and leather, believing that the less they wear the more their insecurities will be covered, and hang out at the tables, hoping to catch some boy's eye. The bar no longer sits in a comfortable silence. Pulsating beats fill every inch of the building, driving into bodies as they grind against one another. This is the part of the night Star hates, the ones that leave her with a severe headache and wish to never have anything to do with alcohol again. And still three hours to go!

Star sighs as she rinses out a glass. It is an incredibly boring night. One would think working in such an energetic atmosphere would provide some sort of entertainment, but the novelty of The Dead Rat had worn off for Star. More than anything she wished for a somewhat intelligent conversation rather than hearing an intoxicated girl's sob story or reasons why she should ditch her boyfriend for whatever rude punk that tries to hit on her. Some nights her boyfriend will stop by to keep her company and fend off the insecure drunk girls and horny young men. Sadly for Star, Michael was not here tonight. He has been busy the whole day looking for Alan Frog. Star cannot be mad at him for leaving here alone. She has been sick with worry since Michael had told her what had happened, and wishes that she could be helping Michael instead of stuck in dingy bar. Earlier she had helped Michael's mother, Lucy, put up missing person's flyers. Star's boss was kind enough to allow her to put one up at the Dead Rat. "Wouldn't surprise me if one of these freaks know something," he had said. The missing person flyers were a long shot. They are so common in Santa Carla that they have become like a part of scenery. Even the ones featuring children are often overlooked.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Star turns around. The man sitting at the counter looks incredibly out of place. He is quite a bit older than the rest and so normal looking that it made him seem unique amongst the majority of "stand outs". Star assumes that he has come to The Dead Rat by mistake.

"Can I help you with something?" she asks.

"Just a water, if that's not too much trouble."

Star reaches for a clean glass and holds it under the faucet. "We only have tap," she says. "Sorry."

"That's quite alright," the man says, smiling as he accepts the water from Star. Star returns it with a tight lipped grin. He quietly sips at his water as Star continues to clean used glasses. He looks around at the people with both interest and slight confusion. Star wonders how long it will take before the man decides to run out of here and back to the safety of his quiet home.

"This may not be any of my business, and please do not take this the wrong way" the man suddenly says. Star waits as he takes a sip, hoping that the man is not going to try anything. "But you seem to be very tired."

"I'm fine," she answers. "I've just got a lot of things on my mind."

The man nods knowingly. "Boy problems?" he asks.

Star laughs. Such odd conversations to be having with a man like this, but it was better than nothing. "Kind of."

"Is it a boyfriend?"

Star smiles to herself at the thought of Michael. "No," she says. "He's wonderful. It's just." Star sighs as she sets down the glass and picks up another. "He's really upset right now, and I guess I feel a little guilty about it."

The man nods again. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. I'm sure he will get over it soon."

"No, I don't think so," Star says, shaking her head. "Here." She pulls out an extra flyer and slides it across the counter top to the man. He takes it and lifts the paper up a little to get better light for viewing. "We know that kid. He's a friend of Michael's little brother."

"And Michael is?"

"My boyfriend," she says filling in the blank. "Michael and I saw him the night he disappeared. You haven't seen him, have you?" Star looks at the man anxiously, hoping that he will say yes although she knows he has most likely not.

The man examines the flyer carefully. It features a picture of solemn faced boy most likely taken from school archives. Underneath the photo are the missing boy's name, Alan Frog, and information about his age, height, and weight. He thinks of the boy he had just left tied to his bed. The one that he had just branded as "whore". The one that only a few hours ago he had made love to as the child begged him to stop. The one he had told his sister to watch to watch while he went out for the night. He runs a thumb over the black and white picture. Yes, he has seen this boy.

"Sorry," the man apologizes as he hands the flyer back to Star. "I can't say that I have. Cute kid, though."

"Yeah," Star says sadly as she takes back the paper. "I- I just hope that he isn't hurt or anything." She pauses as lump begins to form in her throat.

The man nods. "There are some pretty disgusting people out there," he says gravely. He takes another sip of water. "Hopefully they'll find him."

"Michael has been searching all day," a teary eyed Star says. The man fights a scowl. Michael; he remembers him. That is the arrogant little brat who touched his precious rabbit. There was no way he will allow that to happen again. "They only found his backpack," she continues. "But nothing else."

So they had found the book bag. This does not come as a surprise to him. He had tossed it into the ocean while Alan was knocked out in the passenger seat. The hunter knew that it would wash up and eventually be found, and he is glad that it did. The police will be focusing most of search there, waiting for a body to wash up next while the boy is still very much alive miles away. Silly people, they make is so much easier for him.

"That's too bad," the man says. "What do you think he went?" He carefully watches the woman's face, waiting patiently for her answer.

Star bites her bottom lip. "I don't know. I just hope it's all a mistake or something, and no one bad has him. He's just a little kid still."

"The world can cruel," the man says. Star sighs as she nods in agreement. "Well." He finishes off the last bit of his glass of water. "I should get going," he says as he sets some money on the counter. "Thanks for water. I hope they find your friend."

Star nods sadly. "Bye," she says quietly. The man gives a quick wave before heading out of The Dead Rat and back to his home.

* * *

**Well, as you can tell I did not proof read this chapter. I said last week that I would update on Sunday, and there is still an hour left so I am going to post it now and proof read later. I know, I'm lazy, and I apologize for any errors. I'll fix it tomorrow, as well as last chapter four. **


	6. Chapter Six

The Hunter

Chapter Six

The hunter has left, and Alan finds himself bored and alone. His legs have been bound together and his hands are tied behind his back to prevent as little movement as possible. Even if he was not tied up Alan would not attempt to make an escape. The hunter has placed is psychotic sister in charge of babysitting Alan. She paces the halls in sharp steps, occasionally stopping to peak her head in and glare at the boy. Alan tries to sleep, but the woman's loud clanking heels and his own swarming thoughts prevent him from getting any peace.

The white t-shirt the hunter had dressed him in stick to Alan's stomach. A decent amount of fresh blood holds the shirt in place, staining it red. Earlier the hunter had decided to let out his more artistic side and permanently decorate Alan's body. It had been Kim's idea. She had walked in just as the hunter was finishing up with Alan. She started to go into another screeching rant about her damned brother bringing his dirty whores around; "Filthy little slut contaminating my house". Unfazed by his sister's interruption, the hunter argued with his sister as he continued to use the child's body. Alan had lain silently, his faces pressed up against the mattress, as he listened to the pair argue like this was an everyday situation. Kim told her brother that he should label the boy. That way he will never forget what he is. The hunter smiled at this. "That's a great idea," the hunter had said, congratulating his sister. "Just fantastic. Don't you think so, baby?"

He turned Alan onto his back, and with the help of his trusty pocket knife sliced a diagonal line into the skin underneath the boy's navel. Right away Alan began to struggle, and the hunter tried to hold him down with one hand as he tried to work the blade with the other. He had ordered his sister to come over and help assist him with keeping the child still.

"Let me do! Let me do it!" Kim exclaimed, giggling as she joined them on the bed. "You hold him. You're stronger." The hunter agreed, and adjusted himself so that Alan may lean up against his chest while he held him securely in his arms. Kim took the knife from her brother and began to carve out the rest of the word. "Stop moving," she growled as Alan tried to wiggle away from knife. "You're going to make me mess up."

"It's ok," the hunter had tried to assure him. He held onto the boy tightly as Alan continued to struggle, keeping one large hand over his mouth to prevent his screams from being heard. More blond strands fell from Kim's bun, partly shading her eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips as she carved out the last of the word. Alan looked down at the bleeding letters etched into his body.

Whore.

Whore? Tears slipped free from his tired eyes. His body shook with pain as he tried to sort out his confusion. How could he be a whore when he did not even want to be there, he wondered. Alan looked up at the woman sitting on her knees in front of him. She glared him down, her eyes flaming with a hatred Alan could not understand. He pressed into the man that still holds him tightly, wanting to get away from this mad woman. The hunter gently stroked Alan's hair, smiling he cradled him.

"He cries too much," Kim said as she got off of the bed. "If you have to fuck some kid, make sure it's not a cry-baby."

The hunter hugs the boy closely. "Don't listen to her. She's crazy."

"Don't call me crazy!" Kim screamed from the doorway. "You're the one who likes to have sex with babies!"

After a moment longer of cuddling, and when Alan's sobs had turned into quiet whimpering and hiccups, the hunter had cleaned the new wound and dressed Alan into the nearly forgotten white t-shirt. "I have to go out for a bit," the hunter said as he tied up Alan's arms and legs, and wraps a gag around his mouth. "Kim will be watching you, so try to be a good boy." Before he left, the hunter kissed Alan's cheek, chuckling to himself as the boy shied away.

Now it has turned dark, and the hunter still has not returned. Alan's stomach is tight with hunger, not having eaten since that terrible breakfast. He does not dare ask Kim for food. She will surely yell at him. Alan closes his eyes and waits for sleep to come so that he may be numb once again. He begins to feel his mind slip when he hears the soft padding of footsteps in the room. They are too quiet to be the hunters, and defiantly not sharp enough to belong to Kim. Alan cracks an eye open to see what new stranger has entered, hoping it was someone that had come to rescue him. His hopes are dashed when he sees that no one is there. Both eyes open. Yes, the room is empting. Alan sighs through his nose and closes his eyes again. These peoples' craziness is starting to rub off, he thinks as he tries to settle into a more comfortable position. Just as he gets settled, the mattress begins to sink down with new weight. Alan opens his eyes again, feeling confused.

Buttons sits before him. The cat looks very pleased with itself for having gained Alan's attention. Alan stares back at the animal, unsure of what it wants. The monstrous feline saunters over to Alan and settles itself next to him, purring loudly as it presses its furry body against the boy's. Alan winces as the cat presses too hard against his new wound and tries to move away from the cat. Button's good mood is not spoiled by the disruption, and moves closer to Alan and sniffs his face. Alan closes his eyes, annoyed, as the cat's warm tongue scratches against his chin. Great, even the cat is licking him now. Button chooses the spot underneath Alan's chin as his mark, and settles there. He curls into itself, forming a round ball of fat. Alan relaxes against the cat's warm body, and begins to drift off into sleep.

Alan is allowed nearly thirty minutes of sleep when he is awaken by a terrible noise.

"What the hell are you doing to my cat?

His eyes pop open, startled by the sudden noise. Buttons still lies against him, too lazy to feel alarmed by its owner. Kim loudly clicks across the floor towards the bed, yanking the cat off of the mattress. Button growls a bit to show its displeasure but makes no move to fight. "Don't you touch my cat!" She cuddles the fat, furry body close to her. "Are you alright?" she coos to her pet. "That nasty little whore didn't hurt you, did he?" Alan blinks at her, feeling dumbfounded about how she thinks he could hurt her stupid cat when he cannot even move.

Kim sharply turns her head towards Alan. "I don't know why he is keeping you here," she spits. "Stupid brother of mine, always bringing trash like you around. I don't understand why you people can't just leave him alone. It would make our lives so much easier if you just left him alone and stopped trying to seduce him."

Alan tries to tell to her that he does not want to be here, but his words are muffled by the gag. "I have no idea what you are saying," Kim says, rolling her eyes. He speaks again as tears begin to flow from his eyes. Sighing loudly, Kim sets the cat down on the floor and moves to untie the gag. Alan coughs once it is removed. A thin layer of mucus coats the sides of his mouth, and Alan wishes he could wipe it away.

"I want to go home."

Kim frowns. "I can't help you with that."

"Yes you can," Alan says in trembling voice. "You can call the police now. Then I'll be gone and you won't have to be mad anymore."

She thinks this over. "But I can't have my brother go to jail. It would break our poor mother's heart."

"You don't have to. You can drop me off at my house," Alan says desperately. "Or I can call my brother or friend and you can take me somewhere and they can get me. I won't tell anyone about your brother. I promise I won't."

Kim watches him, unconvinced.

"I want to go home," Alan sobs.

The woman shifts her weight onto her left side and crosses her arms across her chest as she watches the crying child. For a moment she pities it, the pathetic little thing. "Stop crying," she demands. "You know I can't help you."

"Yes you can," Alan says through tears. "I want to go come. Call my brother. Or Michael; he has a car. He can come get me. I won't tell anyone. I just want to go home."

Could she? Kim wonders. It would certainly prevent the police from ransacking her house; that is if the little brat does not squeal to anyone. She scowls at the boy. Well, he isn't that bad. At least he does not talk back like that other punk. Sure does cry a lot, though; annoying kid. She could get rid of it now; just drop it off as some gas station or something, and let him find his own way home. Brad would not like that, though. He would be very upset. Who knows what he would do if he comes back and finds his slut missing? But this is her house! She should be able to decide who stays in it. To hell with Brad and his filthy little whores! But still, he is her brother…

"What about Brad?" she asks. "He really likes you. I don't think he would be happy if you left."

It takes Alan a second to remember who Brad is. "He'll be ok," he says. "I want to go home. Please?"

Kim grinds her teeth. All of this whining is giving her a headache. "No," she snaps. Quickly she gets off of the bed, and pulls away her monstrous pet. "And stay away from my cat. Stupid whore," she says muttering the last sentence. Alan watches the woman leave, slamming the door on the way out. He sighs in defeat, knowing he is never going to get out of here.

* * *

Edgar Frog sits alone in Sam's bedroom. He is on his second night of being a guest in the Emerson house, and is not enjoying it one bit. He would like to return to his own home, but fears doing so. He is not afraid of disappearing like Alan; that is the least bit of his worries at the moment. He fears the terrible silence that will plague the house now that Alan is not there. The Frog house has always been quiet compared to most, but Edgar knows that this quiet will be different.

He sighs loudly out of boredom. Sam had left to get some sodas from the kitchen and to also let his dog out, but has yet to return. Edgar checks the alarm clock. It is hardly eleven o'clock. He should be working in the comic book store right now. He should be hanging out with his brother, eyeing down customers to make sure they are not shoplifters or anything supernatural. But Edgar is here and Alan is not. He hates this fact. The two have never been separated this long. Not knowing where his brother is has been driving him to the edge of sanity. Edgar wants to be out looking for him, but was forbidden by Mrs. Emerson to do so. She demanded that he and Sam stayed in the house after dark. It was not safe out there. Apparently she forgot we took down a pack of vampires in her house, Edgar thought. He looks at the clock again, knowing that precious time is passing and that the chances of finding his brother alive and unhurt are going slimmer by the second. "Fuck parental guidance," he mumbles to himself as he jumps off of Sam's bed. He will find Alan himself. That's the way he likes to do things anyhow; on his own.

Edgar starts back at the board walk so that he may retrace Alan's last known steps. He has already done this before, as well as the police and Michael have, but it is a good place to start. As he walks, he studies the faces of people passing by, trying to guess by general appearances if they could have taken his brother. He is sure that it is either a vampire or some sex-crazed maniac. Secretly Edgar hopes that it is a pedophile. That was he would have a better chance of Alan still being alive out there somewhere. His brother would be damaged, but damaged is better than dead.

Earlier Sam's mother had tried to sugar coat the situation for the two youngsters by telling them it was probably someone looking for a child of his or her own, and just took the first one they say. It was a pathetic lie, Edgar knew. He was sure Sam knew this as well. He can't be stupid enough to believe that. It was unlike that if someone wanted a kid that they would take one as old as Alan. It was also more unlikely that anyone would be desperate enough to resort to adding one of the Frog brothers to his or her family. Edgar knows that neither he nor his brother are not the pick of the littler when it comes to kids. Most adults found them too odd and ignored them. So he will be looking for sex-hungry pedophile. Edgar scans the passing faces, wondering what a pedophile looks like. Would it be someone they know, he wonders. Alan would not have gone off with a stranger, but Edgar could not think of anyone they knew well enough that Alan would go with either. He squints his eyes as if it will help him read the peoples' minds. This is not going to be easy, but Edgar will be damned if he lets his brother become some freak's sex slave.

The hunter watches the rabbit's frustrated brother weave his way through a crowd. Poor boy, he thinks. He is trying so hard, and all for nothing. The hunter smirks. He can tell by looking at him that Edgar is also a hunter. The need for destruction is evident in his eyes. But he is no match for a hunter that is at a caliber such as our beloved one.

As Edgar continues to search his eyes lock onto one particular man. He is a blond haired middle-aged man, and Edgar is certain that he has seen him somewhere before. The man catches him staring and smiles. Edgar does not smile back or look away in embarrassment. He scowls, realizing where he has seen that man from. It is that loser magician, Edgar remembers. The one from a couple weeks ago with the sad little sidewalk stand. Going on his gut feeling, Edgar starts to walk towards the man. Before he can make it through the crowd, someone grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. Edgar spins around, outraged by the touch. It's Michael. Edgar scowls up at him. "What do you want?"

"You're supposed to be at home," Michael says calmly.

Edgar shrugs away from Michael's hand. "I'm not going back until I find Alan." He looks back to where the magician was standing, but he is now disappeared. Edgar swears to himself as he stalks off to find the man. Michael follows closely behind.

"I want to find him too."

"Then let me go," Edgar replies without looking at Michael.

"You shouldn't be out, though. Don't you think it's stupid to go after someone that is probably looking for kids your age?"

"No."

Michael sighs. "You can't do this on your own."

"Alan and I have been doing everything by ourselves for years now," Edgar says as he dodges people. "The Santa Carla police are completely incompetent. I am not going to rely on them to get anything done."

"Then let me help you."

Edgar pauses before accepting Michael's over. "Fine," he says. "Just stay out of my way."

The hunter sits on a bench not too far off from where Michael and Edgar argue. He has just heard their deal, and it amuses him. The hunter smiles to himself as he picks a rock out of the bottom of his shoe. Fine, if they want to play the he will too. He has always enjoyed a good match.

* * *

The hunter did not return until the early hours of the morning. He had found Alan fast asleep and left him that way. He was too tired to do anything with the boy, and decided to save some fun for later. Instead, the hunter had crawled onto the bed with Alan and untied the ropes that bound him so that the child would be easier to cuddle with. This is what surprises Alan when he wakes up. He is no longer tied, but an arm hangs loosely around him. He carefully turns himself so that he may see who the arm belongs to. Just as he suspects it is Brad's arm and he appears to be in a deep sleep. Alan moves again, waiting for the man to wake. He does not. He must be really out of it, Alan thinks.

Alan notices the door. It is so close. He bites his lower lip as he considers the thought of escape. There is a chance he can pull it off, Alan believes, if he can manage getting off the bed without waking the man. This may be his only chance. His stomach churns with both excitement and fear. He has to do it now.

Slowly, Alan begins to pull himself across the mattress and away from the hunter. He breathes in shallow, quick breaths as his heart rate begins to pick up. Any moment now the man will rise and strike the boy down before he has a chance to escape. But, no, he does not. The hunter continues to sleep, completely unaware that his prey is slowly slinking away. His arm falls limply onto the mattress as Alan crawls completely away from him. The boy waits for reaction.

Nothing.

Alan looks over at the man to check. Yes, he is still sleeping. Alan grins to himself, barely able to keep in his joy. This may actually work. He slides off the bed with great care, making sure that the weight change is not too sudden. Before walking away, Alan checks again.

Nothing.

Alan slowly makes his way across the floor. He walks with cautious steps and hopes that the floor will not give out again. Luck seems to be in his favor this time. The boards do not creak. Alan pauses at the door, taking in his small moment of triumph. With a trembling hand he grabs onto the door knob. He watches the man still lying asleep on the mattress as he turns the knob. It stops. Alan pushes on the door, still keeping a tight grip on the knob. Almost there, he thinks. Just out the door and down the stairs. Then he is home free. He pushes further onto the door, making the gap nearly large enough to squeeze though. Then it happens.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Alan freezes. He is too afraid to look back at the hunter. His stomach begins to turn again, and a vague, familiar taste of vomit taints his mouth. Just keep going, he tells himself. Keep going. Keep moving. Get out now. Alan throws the door open and runs out, slamming the door shut behind him. He can hear the hunter running across the room at full speed.

Alan springs through the hallway towards the stairs. Adrenaline pumps furiously through his veins. His heart beats at an alarming rate, and the boy is sure that it will burst and he will fall dead right then and there. But it keeps going, and he keeps running with the hunter right behind him. Although Alan has the advantage of youth and drive for survival, he is still no matched for the hunter. This is what he what he has trained his whole life for. This is the moment he lives for; the hunt. He is the hunter, the fox. The rabbit is the prey. And the hunter never loses. He will always get his prey, and he will certainly not let this little rabbit get the best of him. Alan makes it halfway down the staircase when the hunter lunges forward and dives at the boy. He lands on top of him, sending the two tumbling down the stairs.

The rabbit struggles beneath the heavy body of the fox, kicking furiously at it as it crawls out from under it. The fox grabs the thin leg as it begins to escape. He pulls it down, sending the rabbit onto the floor, and he yanks the small body towards him. The rabbit is not about to give up, though. Not when he is this close to freedom. He leans forward and grabs onto the fox's hand. He takes it into his mouth and bites down. The fox curses as the sharp little rabbit teeth pierce his skin, causing it to bleed. The rabbit takes this moment of weakness and kicks at the fox again with his free leg, this time hitting him in the ribs. The fox cries out again and releases the rabbit as he struggles to regain himself. The rabbit dashes up and makes it to the door. He grasps the knob tightly. Freedom.

* * *

**Well that is relatively short compared to my last couple chapters, but I feel like this is a good place to leave off. It seemed a little bit longer in my notebook when I had written it out, but oh well. Here is a random fact for you readers; I have to write stories out on paper before typing them, and the notebook for this story happens to be a pink, glittery cupcake one written with a pink ink pen. I find it slightly ironic considering the content of this particular story. The next chapter may be up sooner since it is Thanksgiving break this week, and I will have more time off now that I only have two days of school this week. Unless my family gets in the way, I should have more time for writing. At least I hope so. So, once again thank you for reading and possibly reviewing! **


	7. Chapter Seven

The Hunter

Chapter Seven

When Alex O'Kelly first joined the force she was not welcomed with open arms. Even now, several years later, she was still not completely accepted amongst her coworkers. From the start everyone believed that she was all wrong. For one, she is female. Her real name is Alexis, but at work she goes by Alex; a more gender neutral and less threatening name that would hopefully discard the ideas of her being some dainty little girl trying to play cop. Not only did she make the mistake of being born female, Alex slipped up by being born too early. She is also quite young, much younger than the majority of people she works with. It takes years for most people to get up to her position, but Alex had lucked out and was transferred right away. The rumors were that she hired was either to balance out the male/female population, or it had something to do with a relative working in the Santa Carla government. Despite the all of the gossip and unsavory looks, Alex is determined to stick to her job and prove that she is not some silly, overemotional little girl.

After Alex got her first case she began to second guess herself. Naturally, the very sight of a corpse made her sick to her stomach. It was not just the fact it was a dead body, but that a human was capable of doing such horrid things to another. It had been a man killed in a robbery gone wrong. The thieves had demanded his wallet, and when the victim refused he was beaten and left to die while the two robbers ran off with his money. There was so much blood. Alex had a hard time believing that all of it could have come from just one person. When she saw how unfazed the others were, Alex forced her feelings down and put on the nonchalant mask that they all must wear. Since that day she has managed to wear it well, but it was not until Alex faced her newest case did she find her mask beginning to slip.

The body had been found in a park where families regularly gather. Alex knew who it was right away once she got a basic description of the victim. It was most likely to be the most recent boy to go missing. Alan something. She remembered hearing about it at the station, and had seen a couple of flyers pinned up around town. The kid came from a regular Santa Carla family; dysfunctional with drug addicted and neglecting parents. Judging by the home life, the police assumed it was another runaway case, and the efforts in finding the missing boy were not very strong. Obviously they were wrong.

When Alex first saw the body she was taken aback. The boy had been laid on his left side, his right arm lying crooked in front of his face. Her first thought was that he looked like he was sleeping, that he had wandered into the park, and had laid down in the grass after deciding it would be a good place to sleep. But, no. Of course not. The world cannot be that easy. He was dead, and as she got closer, Alex could tell that Death had shown no mercy. Although he looked to be peacefully sleeping, it was clear that the child had suffered. Alex cringed before she could control it. A white nylon noose with a wooden handle was tightly wound around his neck. Blood had crusted under his nose and on his slightly parted lips. Under his closed eyes were two dark bruises, mostly from black eyes or a broken nose. Her partner stood beside her, also looking at the corpse. "Think you can handle it?" he asked as he held a camera out to her.

Slowly, Alex shifted her eyes in his direction and then at the camera. She bit her bottom lip in an attempt to regain her composure. Without replying, Alex had taken the camera and headed closer to the body. She snapped a couple of photos, making sure to get all of the boy in the shots. I can do this, Alex told herself. She knelt down in front of him, brining the camera up to his neck. The details became painfully clear through the camera. Up around the shoulder area exposed by the oversized shirt Alex noticed red marks consistent to what she had known as hickies before her love life dwindled away. Alex bites the inside of her cheek as she took a picture of them.

The neck was worse. She could barely bring herself to look at it to take the photo. The rope was tightly embedded into his flesh, caught up in some of his remaining baby fat. Around the noose were dark red markings, most likely scratches from when the boy tried to fight it. Alex struggled to take this picture. It was such a gruesome sight that it seemed disrespectful to photograph it. But she snapped away until she had enough to please everyone.

Now Ms. O'Kelly and her partner had been granted the wonderful opportunity to retrieve the report from the body examination. Alex had insisted on being the one who drove to the morgue to prove that she has yet to be shaken by this case. Driving also helps her keep her mind on other things. The pair stand in a cold hallway, waiting for an OK from the mortician. Her partner, Collin, leans idly against the wall. For the most part Alex does not like her partner. He is much too cold and arrogant for her liking. Collin is nearly ten years older, and uses this as an excuse to treat her like a child. But today she is grateful for having him around. His icy ways will give her something to fight against.

Andrew Gast, the man who performed the autopsy, steps into the hallway. With a slight nod of the head, he signals for Alex and Collin to follow him. Alex begins to feel sick as soon as she enters the room. It smells of chemicals and death. The queasiness grew worse as she spots the boy. His naked body lies out in the open on a metal table. The size of the table makes him look too small to belong there. Poor thing, she thinks. He looks so alone. Even in death he still continues to be pocked and violated. She wishes to cover him up, and let him finally get some peace.

Gast takes a clipboard from one of his young assistants. "Pubescent white male," he says as he walks towards the table. The other two follow, and closely gather around the table. "Aged in early teens."

"Fourteen," Collin says. He looks at the body with an expression of torn emotion. Alex finds comfort in this as she now knows she will not be struggling with this alone.

"There is one blow to the head," Gast continues. "It occurred before death. It was not big enough of an impact to cause a fracture, but there was some internal bleeding. It is located on the back of the skull." He turns the head so that the injury may be seen. "I say he was knocked up against something, or was hit during a struggle."

"As you can see we have abrasions here." He runs a finger through the air above the wrists. "They are consistent with the type of rope used to strangle him. His wrists had been bound for quite some time before he died."

"There is bruising on the torso area. There are a couple of fractured ribs, too. I would say it was caused by a blunt object. And this here," he says pointing to the lower region of the boy's stomach. Alex cringes. The word "whore" had been sloppily carved in to the boy's skin. "This was already healing before the actual death. I am guessing a day or so before. There's anyone one, and X on the hand. That is one is also well."

"The cause of death," Gast says blandly, "is asphyxiation, obviously caused by the garrote around his neck."

"Was he still conscious?" Alex asks, keeping her eyes on the still face.

"Very much so. You can see scratch marks along his neck where he tried to get it off," Gast says as he outlines the markings. "It looks like he put up a pretty good fight."

"What about sexual abuse?" Collin asks.

Gast nods. "I would say repeated up until moments before he died. We also recovered semen from his throat." Collin closes his eyes, and rubs the back of his head. "This is most likely a sexual motivated crime," Gast goes on. "I have seen that noose in other cases. Strangling the victim seems to get the perp off. He probably got too far and accidentally killed the kid."

"Great," Collin says with a sigh. "It looks like it's going to be one of those cases. Got anything else?"

"Not until the rest of the results are in," Gast replies. "Good luck."

On the way back to the car the two detective remained silent. It was not until they had gotten inside did they begin talking. "That poor little kid," Alex says sadly as she jams her keys in and turns on the car. "He was still just a baby."

"You're not going to get all emotional on me, are you Al?" Collin asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

"How can you not be? Does it seriously not bother you that someone raped and killed that kid? Geese, I knew you were cold but really."

"Of course it bothers me," he cuts in. "It pisses me off, but I can't let my feelings get in the way. I have a job to do."

Alex checks her review mirrors, and begins to back out of the parking lot. "How do you do it?" she asks.

Collin shrugs. "You kind of have to not think of them as actual people sometimes."

"That's stupid."

The two sit quietly as Alex guides the car through traffic. "Besides," Collin begins to say. "That kid didn't stand a chance."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Did you see his parents? Total junkies. Most kids that are from that area end up juts like their parents, or in jail, or something."

"That would be better than being dead. I feel bad for them. I mean, they lost their son. Having your child die is every parent's worst nightmare."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Collin says. "Have you heard Boss' new theory?" Alex shakes her head. "He reckons the parents are involved; probably ended up selling their kid to some pervert for a drug fix."

"No way."

Collin nods. "Last time the kid was seen he was walking home. He gets there; his parents are there and hand him over to some pedophile. They get their drugs, and he gets murdered by in some crazy pedophile sex ritual."

"No way," Alex repeats. "No parent would sell their own child."

"Happens all of the time, Kiddo," Collin replies. "It's just a theory anyway."

Alex chews on her bottom lip. "He has a brother."

"I know. I'm going to have social services take care of that."

"You can't do that!" Alex exclaims, whipping her head towards her partner. "They already lost one kid; you can't take away their other one."

"Eyes on the road," Collin says. Alex rolls her eyes before focusing them on the traffic ahead of them. "And yes I can if I think here is any chance he will get hurt."

"Don't you think that will be too much for him, though? He has already lost his brother, and taking him away from the rest of his family and everything else he knows will probably traumatize him even more."

"Traumatized is better than dead."

Alex sighs. "This is all fucked up."

Collin nods solemnly as he pulls out a box of cigarettes. He takes one out and holds it out to Alex. "You got that right, partner."

* * *

His brother is dead, but Edgar has never felt more alive. Not on the inside, of course. There he remains numb to happiness and sadness and whatever may lie between. But now that he is in the presence of death Edgar is more aware of how alive he is. He can feel his whole body beneath his clothes, the stiff fabric scratching up against his skin with every movement. He can feel the blood pumping through his veins. He takes notice of the steady movement of his chest as he breathes in air; unlike his brother who breathes no more.

It is a curious thought. He is alive and only a few feet from him his brother lies dead. They are so close, but could not be further apart. The thought weighs down on Edgar's mind, crushing it slowly. He is such a terrible brother. How dare he continue to breathe without Alan? So selfish of him. It is almost as selfish as him wishing he was dead when Alan no longer has a chance of living. He should be grateful that he is still alive, the he still has the opportunity to breathe air, and feel, and grieve. But Edgar is not. He only hates himself more for being able to posses the wonderful gift of life.

Edgar glances over at the open casket as wonders what Alan would think of all of this. More people had shown up to the memorial service than he had expected. Edgar did not recognize most of them. Some were kids from school, the very ones that had teased and tormented the two of them for years, that had come to say goodbye to their fallen classmate. Others were just random people who had hears about the murder on the news or read about it in the paper, and had came to pay respects and to get a peak at the body. They showed up bawling their eyes out. It sickens Edgar. Alan is his brother. His! He is the one who loved him through all of these years. He is the one that had laughed and fought and lived with. Edgar is the one who lost someone. Not these people. They had no right to cry for his brother. They had come to gawk the raped and murdered child. They cried for him to make themselves feel better, as if their tears could make any of this right. Edgar barely acknowledged these people as they passed by and offered their sympathies. He could not wait for this day to be over so that he may go home and sleep.

His parents stand to the left of him. Both had managed to stay relatively sober through the last few days. His father remained in his usual silent state, but his mother was so stricken with grief that she was barely coherent. The drugs she has been taking did not help, but for once Edgar was not angry at her for using them. Everything has been a disaster since Alan went missing. Drugs seem to be the only logical way of getting through the day.

Edgar spots two of the detectives in the back of the church. He scowls at the sight of them. Those annoying bastards have been hounding him since Alan's body was found. They could not even leave him alone at his brother's funeral. The two had been asking him so many questions, most of the having to deal with his parents. They seem to have the idea stuck in their tiny brains that his parents had something to do with Alan dying. Edgar nearly laughed out loud when they had asked him if his parents had ever done anything to hurt him. Hurt him? He would be lucky enough if he could even get their attention. The police were leaning towards the idea of removing Edgar from his home, and dumping him into foster care. He had other family, of course; one aunt on his mother's side. He only saw her and the rest of her family a couple of days around Christmastime. Every 23rd of December Edgar and Alan had to endure a two and a half hour drive with their parents to get to Aunt Katherine's house. It was never an enjoyable experience. For the most part Edgar and Alan stuck to themselves. Their cousin closest to their age is six years older than Edgar. This is Sarah. She is just like her mother; heavy set and easily excitable. Although the cousins met only once a year, Sarah acts like they are the best of friends, always greeting with spine snapping hugs and chirping how much she loves her baby cousins. Edgar cannot stand her, and was deeply annoyed when she showed up to the funeral with his aunt and uncle. His other two cousins had came too, but they have always showed less interest in their odd little cousins.

The Emerson family enters with Star and Laddie in their company. Star had been apprehensive about bringing Laddie along, especially after she had heard it was going to be open casket, but since she was not able to find a babysitter the little boy had to tag along. She holds tightly onto his hand as if it is the only thing keeping her up.

"Do you think you boys will be alright?" Lucy asks as their group draws further down the line.

"Yeah," Michael replies quietly. He looks at his little brother. Sam stares about the room, careful not to keep his eyes on the casket. "Are you ready, Sammy?"

Sam looks up at Michael, his large blue eyes staring intently. "Do you think he will look the same?" Sam asks.

Michael bites the inside of his cheek. "I don't know, Bud," he says, laying an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulling his close. "I hope so."

Sam looks forward as he leans head against Michael. "Me too."

Laddie and Star went first. The two kneel before the casket, and Star tells him that he needs to pray. The little boy looks up at her, bewildered by her sobbing. Laddie cranes his neck so that he may get a better view of the body inside. He remembers Alan lending him change so that he could play the pinball machine in the comic store, and letting him help out when Star left him there so she could be with Michael. Laddie had liked him. The little boy looks up at Star again. He cannot understand why she is crying so much. Alan seems fine to him. "It's ok," Laddie says desperately. "See, he's only sleeping."

Star looks down at Laddie, and nods. "Yes," she says as she wipes away tears. "Only sleeping." She pulls Laddie close, hugging him nearly too tightly as she begins to break again. Laddie allows her to do so in hopes that it will stop the crying.

Michael lingers behind as Sam went with their mother. He wants to go by himself so that he may take it all in better. When Michael first sees what is left of Alan he feels confused. Alan looks as he usually does, but at the same time he is another person. Death's mask morphed his appearance in a way that Michael could not quite pinpoint. Perhaps it is the fact that the boy is wearing make-up. He had to be prepared that way so that the cruises under his eyes and the arms from strangulation would not be visible so that the body would be more acceptable for viewing. As well as the funeral home workers had tried, not all of his wounds could be completely concealed. A faint trace of the deep abrasion peaks through the make-up that had been slathered on his neck. Michael shudders at the sight of it. Strangulation. Such a gruesome way to die. Against his will Michael begins to think about it. Did Alan cry? Did he fight back bravely or did he accept his untimely death? Did he ever wonder why no one had come to save him? Michael hopes not. He prays that Alan was not afraid, though it was impossible to imagine him not to be.

Michael sighs as he tries to think of what to do. He supposes that he should say a prayer or something. That is what most people seem to d at these sorts of things. No one in his family has ever been very religious, and he doubted Alan had been either. Praying did not seem like it would do any help.

Michael studies Alan's face. Whoever said that dead people look like they are sleeping lied. Although it is one of those lies that is told to bring comfort, but still a lie. Alan looks too still to be sleeping. Michael is tempted to teach out and touch him. Just a quick little swipe only to feel the cook skin to make sure that Alan is really dead. Michael holds back, fearing it would be too weird. Alan had to be dead. He is in a coffin after all. He had gone through the autopsy process in which they had to cut him up and turn him inside out for examination. He has to be dead. But still, Michael is not a hundred percent sure. He had strongly believed that Alan would come back to them alive. He had been so sure that he would be able to find the kid and pull him away from danger, holding him safe in his arms. But he had not, and Alan had died. Raped and strangled all because Michael had not made sure he had made it home safely and had not found him in time. Michael sighs again. "Sorry, Bud," he says quietly before getting up.

He spots her family over by the Frogs. His mother is conversing with people he vaguely recognizes as Edgar and Alan's parents. Sam and Edgar stand side by side, both staring at the floor. It is evident that Sam is crying, but Edgar is as solemn as ever. No tears fall from his eyes. He stands rigid and alert, looking more irritated than anything. Michael does not see Star or Laddie. As he goes over to ask Sam if he has seen them someone steps into his way. It is a girl that looks to be around his age. She is a round girl and wears a fading black sweater hat had been stretched too far over her curvy breasts. She is average at best with a snub nose and a circular face. "I'm Sarah," she says as an introduction.

Michael, unsure of what to say to the stranger, replies with a simple "Hi".

"I'm Alan's cousin," she explains. "How did you know him?"

"Uh- he's friends with my kid brother," Michael says, motioning over towards Sam. Sarah looks in Edgar and Sam's direction.

"Oh," she says in an almost excited way. "He's cute. It's good to see that Eddie has some nice friends."

Eddie? Michael cannot see Edgar being pleased with the endearing nickname.

"He's devastated," Sarah continues to say. "Well, you can't really tell but he is. I know it. He and Alan were always together." Michael nods. "It's so tragic," Sarah says dramatically. "Alan was the baby of our family, you know. It's terrible what they did to him. We're all so devastated." Michael looks around her, trying to find Star. Edgar's cousin digs through her purse and pulls out two photographs. She hands them over to Michael.

"These are from last Christmas," she says. "My aunt and uncle never took much pictures of them, because they…Well, you know. But I made sure I took them! It was difficult, too. Those boys never liked doing anything that involved smiling or dealing with people. But I got some decent ones."

Michael looks at the pictures. By the looks of the first photo, he cannot blame the Frog brothers for not wanting their picture taken. It appears to have been taken Christmas morning judging by the seasonal decorations and sleepy faces. Sarah sits between the two boys sporting a very festive sweater. She has an arm wrapped around each of them, pulling them close. Her smile beams brought through the photograph, unblemished by sleep. Her eyes are slightly hidden behind the pockets of fat brought up by her grin. On her right is Edgar, scowling at the camera. His look could have been considered threatening if it were not for his bad case of bed hair. Alan sits on her left, sideways glancing at his cousin with an expression of mixed confusion and slight disgust.

Michael flips to the next photo. It is the same setting, same position, but somehow Sarah had managed the miracle of getting both boys to smile. Michael smiles back at both of them. He tries to think of another time he had seen Alan smile. None came to mind. Surely he had seen it. Michael must have not been paying enough attention. He hands the pictures back to Sarah, who puts them back into her purse.

"I tried to give them to Eddie," she says. "But he said he didn't want them."

"He's probably just overwhelmed," Michael says, looking over at Edgar.

Sarah nods. "I'll try again later. Did you know him very well? Alan, I mean."

"Not really," Michael admits, unable to recall having can actual conversation with the kid. "He had been over to our house a lot during the summer, but I never really got the chance to talk to him much." He considers telling her that he had been the last one to see Alan alive, but decides against it. It would most likely upset the girl. "He's a good kid, though."

"He was," Sarah says slowly as her eyes begin to flood. "He was adorable. I miss him already."

As Michael continues to converse with the Frogs' cousin, the hunter enters the church. Although he is quite confident that he will get by unnoticed, the hunter cannot help feel a little nervous. But nothing, not even the chance of being caught, will prevent him from seeing his precious rabbit one last time. He had loved the boy, after all. He loves him so much, and it would be painful to miss out on this memorial service.

The hunter steps into the line of mourners and looks around. He can tell right away which people are there just to look at Alan. Humans are such morbid creatures. He makes eye contact with a woman in the back. Judging by her cheap suit, she is probably one of the detectives, the hunter guesses. He nods shortly to acknowledge her presence. She nods back in reply. The hunter turns forward, fighting the urge to smile. It is that easy. The police never suspect anything unless it is right in their faces, screaming at them. At least not the stupid ones, which is nearly all of them, the hunter believes. The real trick will be getting pass that brother. The hunter can tell that the boy has the right set of eyes to see him. He had already zoned in on him once before, but much to the man's luck, had lost the opportunity when the curly haired fool had distracted him. It would not be too hard to avoid Edgar, though. The hunter had caught a glimpse of him standing off the side, talking to the friend. This means the hunter will get his chance to see his beloved one more time as well as the opportunity to finally meet his parents. He has been looking forward to getting a closer look at them.

The hunter is thankful that is an open casket. The sight of a body lying in a coffin has never bothered him, not even when it had been his good friend many years ago. He bows his head and folds his hands as he kneels down in front of the polished box in mock prayer. The hunter is disappointed when he notices people have covered up some of his handiwork. He smiles down at the small body, feeling pleased that he is the one who was able to spend the last moments of life with this beautiful child.

It had started nearly a week ago in the morning hours of the day. For the first time in awhile it had been nice out; no rain or extreme amount of heat. The hunter could tell that it was going to be a lovely day before he had even opened his eyes. He was rudely awoken by the squealing of his bedroom door. He frowned as he slowly opened his eyes, prepared to yell at his sister or her idiotic cat. It was not until the hunter noticed the lack of warmth beside him did he realize what was going on. That damned rabbit was trying to get away.

The hunter took off after him, chasing the boy down the hall and to the stairs. He cursed himself for being kind enough to untie Alan the night before; should have known the little brat would take advantage of him. The hunter dove, landing on top of the boy, and sent them both tumbling down the stairs.

But the rabbit would not give up. He had fought back, kicking and hitting, so that he may get away from the man. It was not until Alan bit his hand and temporarily stunned the hunter did he manage to get away. The hunter cried out in pain, angered by the betrayal. He had given that ungrateful child love, and this is how he is repaid? The hunter rose to his feet and charged at full speed towards the boy. Alan nearly had the door fully open when two strong hands grabbed his neck and threw him backwards. Even then the hunter realized that he had thrown him much harder than intended. The smaller body flew backwards like a rag doll. The back of his skull crashed into the hard wooden steps. He had most likely being injured, but the hunter did not care. The rabbit struggled to his feet s he held his wounded head. He had gotten a small taste of freedom, and was not ready to give it up just yet. Alan staggered forward, prepared to take on the hunter again. It was a useless attempt for, as soon as he had taken a few steps forward, the hunter knocked him back to the ground with little effort.

"I don't know what's wrong with you," the man screamed. He brought back his foot and sent it directly into Alan's ribcage. Alan yelps as he clutches his new injury.

"I have given you everything!" He kicked again, and then a third. "What more can you want?" A fourth kick.

Alan held into his ribs, feeling sure that at least one of them is broken. His breathes were labored and strained as he looks up at the man. The hunter scowled as he saw the defiance that still lingers in the dark eyes. Once again Alan struggled to his feet. "I'm going home."

The hunter growls ferociously as he drove his fist back, sending it directly to the boy's face. Alan fell upon impact. The hunter could hear the cracking of bone as the nose broke. He could smell the blood before he realized what he had done. But even then he did not care. The rabbit had defied him, and that requires punishment.

The hunter grabbed onto the boy's arm and tugged him up the stairs, back into the bedroom. He threw Alan onto the bare mattress, and in one swift movement yanked off the boy's jeans. "I can't imagine why you would want to go back there," the hunter said as he removes his own pants. He tossed them aside and got onto the bed. His voice frightened Alan. The man spoke so quickly and with such anger. It reminds him of the sister. Alan covered his eyes as the man crawled on top of him. The hunter scowled and whacked them away. "You better look at me when I talk to you," he threatened as he pinned Alan's arms down. Alan grimaced at the amount of pressured put on him. Without warning, the hunter began to rape the child again. He looked down at the young face dripping with blood and tears. He feelsso good. Why must he be so stupid?

"I saw your brother last night," the hunter said as he continued to work himself over the boy. Alan's eyes flickered with interest at the mention of his brother. Edgar. He missed him.

"I went to that dinky little comic store of yours. I asked him where you were. He only shrugged and went back to work." The hunter noticed the hurt look in Alan's eyes. He grinned viciously at the boy and began to pick up his pace.

"I saw your little friend, too. He was with that brother of his, laughing about something. They did not seem to be too worried about you. Did they?" Alan turned his head to the side. "I told you to look at me when I'm talking to you." With a moment of hesitation, the boy forced himself to face the hunter gain.

"Didn't I tell you," the hunter went on, "that none of them cared about you? Didn't I say that they would not want you back? See, Kiddo, I was right. They don't care about you. They haven't come to save you. They haven't even been looking for you!"

The rabbit whined about something softly that the hunter cannot hear. "What's that, Darling?"

"You're lying," the boy said.

The hunter laughed. "Believe that if you want. But don't you think if they actually cared about you they would have found you by now? It's not that hard to find a person. They just don't care enough to do it. See, this is why I don't understand why you don't want to stay here with me. I actually want to be with you. I actually love you."

"I want to go home," Alan had cried as he cringed at the pain the man was causing him.

"You're not going home," the hunter said, slamming harder into Alan. "You're going to stay here; forever. And your stupid brother is never going to hurt you again."

"Edgar never hurt me."

"Well, he defiantly isn't helping you. That's for sure. You're better off here."

"I want to go home! I want Edgar and Sam and Michael and my parents. I want to go home. Please let me go."

The hunter remained silent as he finished up with Alan. Once he was done he got off the bed, and left Alan crying as he went to find something. There in the top dresser drawer he found it, his beautiful garrote. It was his favorite tool, and had been waiting patiently to use it on his most beautiful rabbit yet. Now was the time. He returned to the bed and ordered Alan to stay still. The boy struggled, of course, but the hunter easily managed to slip the noose around the thin neck. He adjusted is so that the knot that tied it together laid perfectly centered on Alan's throat. And then he pulled, hard. Alan gagged, his eyes wild with fear as his hands few to try to remove the rope. The hunter pulled harder, pleased with the reaction he was getting. This, minus the sex, was his favorite part. He got to see his prey fight to live, and it was never a bad show.

Tears flooded from Alan's eyes as the man pulled harder. He was chocking so bad, and he could not stop it. The boy kept scratching at it, trying to free himself, but the hunter could see that he was quickly losing consciousness. His eye lids fluttered and his face began changed colors. The hunter could not stop pulling. He must kill this child. He needed it. Slowly, the life left the boy, and Alan had died right there in bed while a pair of birds chirped outside the window. It had been beautiful.

The hunter looks at his beloved rabbit one last time before heading towards his parents. He has been looking forward to this moment for quite some time. He has always enjoyed seeing his preys' family reaction to his work. The hunter was rather displeased when he first saw Alan's father. He is a sullen man, numbed by grief and years of drug use. His vacant eyes scatter, unable to focus on any subject for long. The hunter clears his throat to catch the man's attention. Father Frog looks him. For once he is not wearing his sunglasses, and the hunter is able to make eye contact. They are empty of all emotion. The hunter extends a hand in an offering of condolence. The man looks at it with confusion, but slowly accepts it into his own trembling hand. The hunter gazes at his face. This man, the one that shares the same blood as his rabbit, has made a connection with him. The hunter's mind begins to wander as he shakes the limp hand. Only days ago he had held the hand of this man's son; the small, rigid little hand that tightly grasped onto the hunter's as the child cried in pain. "I'm sorry for your loss," the hunter says grimly. Father Frog's eyes roll up to meet his. He nods and mumbles something incoherent.

The mother is much more of a delight to meet compared to the father. She is more open with her grief, completely unembarrassed by the terrible scene her pathetic wailing is causing. Her eyes are red and tired from all of the tears they have produced in the past few days. At the very mention of her fallen son the grief stricken woman throws herself upon the hunter. He catches her in his arms and stumbles a bit as he adjusts to her weight. She sobs onto his shoulder wailing loudly about the men that killed her baby. The hunter feels her broken heart. It pumps the very same blood that ran through the rabbit's heart. He pulls her close and sympathetically pats her back. He thinks of her child underneath him, his little heart pulsating rapidly as he struggles under the man's crushing weight. Such fond memories. The hunter leaves the sobbing woman as a relative comes to try to calm her. He has seen enough.

By the time it came to the event of the actual burial, Edgar was exhausted. It is hard working greeting people you do not like and sitting through your brother's funeral. His heads aches from all of the crying. It is such a terrible noise. If he has to hear one more person sob or blow his or her nose Edgar is sure that he will go insane and punch someone in throat. That will shut them up. Edgar wishes that he could go be with Sam and his family, but he is forced to stay with his own family. For reasons he cannot understand, Edgar can't stand being around them more than usual. They refuse to let him be when all he wants is to be left alone. He has too much thinking to do, and cannot possibly get any done with them constantly bothering him.

Sam leans up against his brother as the priest says some final prayers. This has been the longest week of his life, and it was just about to be over. It does not seem like it to him, though. He does not believe that this moment can ever end. What will happen now that Alan is gone for good? Surely the world will stop, he thinks. He can't imagine life going on after this. Sam watches at dirt is piled back on top of his friend's coffin. An animal-like cry pierces the air as Mrs. Frog sinks to the ground, babbling in words only she understands. Michael pulls his brother closer and wishes they were somewhere else.

"Is this really it?" Sam asks quietly.

Michael watches the scene with a blank expression. "I guess so."

"Alan is really gone?"

Michael nods. "Yes." He can barely believe the words as they leave his lips. This cannot be real. It cannot end this way.

Sam remains silent as the last bit of the coffin is covered. People mumble to each other as they disperse back to their own normal lives. "What now?"

"I don't know, Bud."


	8. Chapter Eight

The Hunter

Chapter Eight

Edgar does not enjoy being at home, not even for a minute. He cannot stand most places in general. Everywhere he went, there was Alan. Not physically, of course Nor was he there mentally. Edgar is not followed by his brother's spirit or hallucinations. No, he is instead plagued by memories. Edgar finds these painful triggers everywhere, cruelly poking at him, and reminding him of once and what can never be again. It can be something as small as certain comic book, or even a particular sound or smell to set off the trigger. He could feel it; the terrible grief crawling through his chest and claws its way up his throat, demanding for release. Edgar would always try to fight it. He would try to breathe in deeply, hoping to suck the pain back inside. He clamps his jaw tightly, and wraps his fingers tightly around his hair, pulling tightly so that he has something else to concentrate on. As valiantly as Edgar fights back, the grief always wins. It escapes in violent, angry outbursts. But Edgar never cries. He refuses to break.

It isn't fair. Alan can leave him, but Edgar must still live with his memory. And even with this lingering presence he had never felt more alone. Everything that Edgar had one known is changed. The house that he had once shared with his brother has now become a living tomb. Their mother work less than before. She now spends most of her days locked in her room, wailing and moaning until she passes out from exhaustion. Their father is different. He works constantly, sometimes spending the entire night at the store. Edgar cannot blame him. The presence of death along with his mother's woeful cries is too heavy for one to handle.

Besides, it also gives him one less place to go and be attacked by memories of Alan. The comic book store is the worst. It was more of a home than their actual house ever was. It was where they typically fought and played. It was also the last place Edgar had seen Alan alive, and that is much too painful to remember.

School is hardly any better. It holds very few happy memories, but he is still not able to hide from his brother's death there. His classmates will not allow it. It is unintentional, of course, but kids can be cruel without trying. Truth be told, Edgar was once a little excited about school starting up again. He and Alan would be in the same school, and they would also have Sam. That was all ruined when Alan disappeared. Days after the funeral school started. Edgar was told that he did not have to go back right away if he wanted to. Since staying at home seemed like the worst of the two options, Edgar chose to attend school. Right away he knew it was not a good decision. Even with Sam by his side things did not get easier. Edgar was greeted with curious stares almost as soon as he had entered the building. People would point him out, talking in whispered voices when they thought he would not notice.

_There he is. The murdered kid's brother._

But Edgar always heard them. At first he would shoot the people looks, scowling as they continued to quietly gossip. It never worked. Despite his efforts, the whispering gossip would continue. Alan's death was too hot of a topic to be put to rest, not even for the subject's brother. No one bullied Edgar anymore, though. It would not be nice to tease the dead kid's brother. Sometimes Edgar wished they did. It would make things seem more normal again. It was as if Alan's murder has marked him as diseased as if others could catch death if they got close enough to Edgar. Stay away from the murder victim's brother! Who knows what he may do in his crazy, grief-stricken state.

Teachers were not much better. They would gawk at him with morbid, curious looks. They were sympathetic and overly kind to the point where Edgar wanted to slap them. The extra attention annoys him. Unless they could bring Alan back or find whoever had killed him, he did not want any of their help.

It is the first Friday of the school year, and Edgar could not be more thankful for it. He has a lot of investigating to do on his days off. Edgar has taken it upon himself to find the monster who has taken away his brother. There is no way Edgar could trust the incompetent police of Santa Carla to get anything done. Also, with the way Santa Carla is they will soon be swamped by newer homicides and forget all about Alan. But Edgar won't. He will never forget his brother. Edgar has already gathered the basics for his investigation; a slightly battered notebook for notes, a map of the town and a list of possible suspects, most of them men who had been previously in jail for sex crimes. It is not much, but it's a good start.

The first class Edgar has every day is Algebra. He goes straight to his assigned without acknowledging anyone. Edgar's neck is killing him. Since Alan has left, he has taken to sleeping on the living room couch. It is a lot less comfortable than his bed, but Edgar could not bare the thought of sleeping in the room he had once shared with his brother and not hearing the other's peaceful breathing.

A pair of girls walk past and take their seats in front of Edgar. He does not look up, but he can heel their stares as the girls pass. The two exchange looks. The blonde one nods, signaling that yes, this is the one. The other's eyes widen.

_The dead kid's brother. Such a tragedy._

As the teacher begins the lesson, Edgar's mind wanders. He realizes that it has now been two weeks since he has last seen Alan alive. Fourteen days without his brother. It does not seem possible. Edgar had never thought that there would be a day without Alan, but here he is nearly fourteen days later. And this is only the beginning. Edgar glances at the calculator sitting on his desk. He slides it closer and lazily begins to punch in numbers. Considering if he is lucky enough to live to only the age of fifty, Edgar would have to live thirty five years without Alan. That is 12, 775 days without his brother. That is at least 21,240 hours of being alone. 18,408,180 minutes of guilt. This is only if Edgar gets to die at the age of fifty. There is a chance that he may live longer, and then the numbers will become larger.

Edgar can feel his eyes beginning to sting with salty tears. He takes in a deep breath, willing them to stay back. He is a rock, a jagged object becoming more difficult to touch. Nothing can touch him. But the tears continue to fight. Edgar cannot help it. There are too many numbers. He can barely make it through fourteen days let alone 12,775 with the possibility of more. Edgar clenches his jaw as he tries to make his defense stronger.

Thirty-five years.

Two tears manage to escape and spill down his cheeks, silently plopping down onto his opened notebook. Edgar watches as the tiny droplets stain the lined paper. He needs to get out of here.

Edgar quickly gathers his things and stuffs them into his backpack. He keeps his head down as he walks down the aisle of desks so that no one will see that he is crying. "Edgar, where are you going?" the teacher calls out to him. Edgar replies by slamming the door on the way out.

Where is he going? Edgar does not know. Home and the comic book store are out. Those are now war zones. He just knows that he can no longer stay here. Edgar wipes at his face as he walks towards his locker. He has been blessed with empty hallways. Everyone else is on class, and no one has bothered to follow him. Leaving should be easy.

As Edgar shoves his books into his locker, he hears footsteps echoing in the halls. He prays that it another kid skipping class. The footsteps stop, and Edgar can feel a presence beside him. He does not look up. Edgar takes one of the wooden stakes he keeps in his locker for those "just in case" moments. It probably shouldn't be there. It's probably illegal. But one never knows when one must stake something.

"Edgar," the person says.

Edgar glances over as he slides his backpack on. It is the school's principle, Mr. Elbert. For the most part students like him. Mr. Elbert is a friendly man, always smiling and greeting students. He rarely class kids into his office, and Edgar has been one of those rare few. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Mr. Elbert asks.

Edgar looks at him again and shrugs. He begins to walk away, but is stopped by a steady hand. Edgar swears under his breath. He just wants to be left alone. Why can't people understand that?

"I know this is hard for you," Mr. Elbert says slowly. Edgar scowls. That stupid man has no idea what it's like. "But you can't start skipping class," the principle goes on to say. "Do you need to talk?"

Edgar shrugs away his hand. "No."

Mr. Elbert pauses as he tries to think of what to say next. He must be careful for he can see a severe anger gleaming in the boy's eyes. Saying the wrong thing may set him off. "Come on," he says softly as he once again puts his hand on Edgar's shoulder, and leads him in the direction of his office.

One of the secretaries smiles at Edgar as they walk through to the principle's section of the office room. He looks away before he gives himself the chance to scowl at the woman. Mr. Elbert opens the door to his small office. Edgar enters first, taking one of the chairs facing the front of the awkwardly large desk. Edgar shifts uncomfortably in his plastic seat as the principle sits before him, staring. Why did he come here?

"So," Mr. Elbert says, unsure of where to start. He has deal with situations like these before, ones where he has had to talk to distressed students after the loss of a loved one. They had all broken down easily, spilling their guts out to him and allowing some sort of comforting. But Edgar Frog is a different story. He has a reputation for being cold. There he is now, arms crossed and face blank. It will be difficult getting through to this one.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mr. Elbert says. He feels stupid right after he says it.

"Do I want to talk about what?" Edgar replies dully.

"Um. Your brother. Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Edgar considers telling him about the thirty-five years he had calculated. "No, I would not."

"You know we're all here for you," Mr. Elbert says. He leans forward a bit, his elbows resting on the desktop. Edgar blinks. "I know this is a pretty hard thing to understand."

"No," Edgar cuts in. "My brother is dead. Someone killed him, and he's not coming back. That's it."

"Yes," Mr. Elbert says slowly. "But I know you miss him. We all miss Alan too. It's going to be ok."

Edgar cringes at his brother's name. No word has ever hurt so much. "No," Edgar repeats. "It's not ok. Alan is dead. Don't try to pull any of that "in a better place" or flying around angel crap. He's dead, and you are delusional if you think that is ok." His anger grows with each word he speaks. Mr. Elbert remains still as he allows Edgar to continue.

"And you don't miss him," Edgar growls. "You didn't even know him. No one here cared about him before he died. You can't just say miss someone when you didn't even know them. It's not fair."

"Why is it not fair?"Mr. Elbert asks calmly. Edgar glares at the man, furious that he is even questioning it. Time to move on, Mr. Elbert decides. "How are things at home?" he asked.

"Fine."

"How are your pare-."

"If you're trying to get me to say they did anything, then forget it," Edgar says. "They didn't. They never do anything."

Mr. Elbert nods. "I wouldn't imagine it," he says. "I was just wondering how they are holding up. Have you been able to talk to them about anything?"

"There is nothing to talk about."

"Then why are we here."

Edgar scowls. "You're the one who brought me here."

"Yes, I did," Mr. Elbert begins to say.

"Look," Edgar interrupts. "I'm fine. My family is fine. There is nothing to talk about. Can I go now?"

"Only if you are going back to class."

"I'm not going back."

"Well, I don't see why you would need to leave when you say you are fine," Mr. Elbert says. He regrets this as soon as the words leave his mouth. For a fraction of a moment, he sees a flash of sadness in the boy's eyes. It was quick, but still there. The principle quickly asks if there is anyone that can take him home.

Edgar shakes his head. "I can walk."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Of course it's not, Edgar thinks. His brother was kidnapped walking home. No one is going to let him do anything alone now that Alan is dead. Edgar tries to think of someone that can pick him up. His parents were out of the question. His father would be too busy with work or drugged out to come get him. He couldn't remember a time his mother drove anywhere and that is probably for the best. There is Sam's mom. She did say to call her if he ever needed anything.

"I can call someone," Edgar says. Mr. Elbert nods and slides his pone across the desk towards Edgar. The boy carefully punches in the Emerson phone number, praying that he remembered the correct one. Edgar turns his body slightly away from the principle. He feels uncomfortable talking on the phone in front of him. The phone rings four times before it is answered.

"Hello?" a masculine voice asks.

Edgar freezes. It must be Michael. "Uh, hi. Is Mrs. Emerson there?"

"She's working."

Damn it, Edgar swears to himself. He had forgotten about the video store. He mumbles some sort of apology, ready to hang up.

"Edgar? Is that you?" Michael asks.

Edgar nods, forgetting for a moment that Michael cannot see him. "Uh, yeah," he adds quickly.

"Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm at school."

The conversation dies. Edgar glances at Mr. Elbert waiting. He feels awkward that the principle is listening to this. "Do you need me to pick you up?" Michael asks.

"Yeah," Edgar says quietly, and then adds, "If you can."

"No problem, bud. Hey, can you ask if Sammy can get out too?"

Edgar holds the phone against his shirt and asks the principle about Sam.

"Who is Sam?" is the reply.

"Sam Emerson," Edgar says. "His brother is picking me up. He moved here during the summer. He hung out with Alan and me."

Mr. Elbert considers this. "Sure," he says. "I'll have Melanie call him down."

Edgar watches as Principle Elbert leaves the room. "He's coming," Edgar says into the phone.

"Alright. I'll meet you guys at the front. And don't go by yourself."

Edgar rolls his eyes as he hangs up the phone. He believes he can handle standing alone for a few minutes.

* * *

The hunter sits upon his bed, alone and brooding. Beside him sits a neglected journal. He has kept one for each of his rabbits, and had come up here to write some more in Alan's, but soon found himself bored. He had started writing in Alan's the night he saw the boy. He filled it with updates of his stalking and different twisted plans to do with the child written out in wiry writing. The hunter had come up with so many different fun activities for him and his rabbit. Sadly, he did not get the chance to carry all of them out. The notebook held detailed reenactment of each rape and form of torture he inflicted on the boy. Little notes are scribbled in the margin, reminders of what he should do later. Amongst the pages the hunter has stuck in some polariods he managed to shoot while the rabbit slept. There was one from the first night, fully clothed and tied up. Another was moments after the death. Once Alan had been strangled, the hunter had gotten up and took a shower to help calm his nerves. He decided then he must take a picture for a souvenir so he can remember the moment better. When the hunter returns to the room, he finds that damned cat sitting with his rabbit. The vermin had growled at him as he approached. The hunter threw the animal off the bed, and got his camera to take the death photo. The last picture was one of the missing person flyers he had taken. He had cut out the black and white school photo and added it into his collection.

Now the hunter does not feel like writing. He is suppose to tell his story of meeting the rabbit's parents, but cannot bring himself to do it. Instead he plays with his hands. He holds silver dog tags, treasures left from the rabbit that he found on the floor a day after the death. He winds the chain tightly until the circulation is cut off. He unwinds and repeats the process again. The hunter sighs loudly as he winds it again. He misses his precious little rabbit. They barely spent three days together before he had to rid of the poor thing. Even after nearly two weeks without him, the hunter still misses his rabbit. He misses him terribly. Earlier his sister had came in and found him crying.

"Oh, stop your blubbering," she had said. "You're the one who killed the little slut, you idiot."

He had been the one to kill Alan. There was no way around it, the hunter knew. He was destined to murder the child since the first moment he saw the boy. No one could have prevented it, not even the hunter if he had wanted to. He did not mean to kill the rabbit so soon. It only that stupid little boy had just done what he was supposed to then maybe they could have had a couple more days together.

But the rabbit is gone, and now all he has is the boy's dog tags, boots and shirt. The hunter had not placed the shoes back on the boy's feet before he dumped the body. They lie in the middle of the room, untouched since the first night. The shirt still remains in the hamper. He cannot bring himself to wash it. As disgusting as it is, that is how the rabbit had left it and that way it will remain.

He can still feel the boy. Ala was very much still in this room. His blood stains the mattress from where the hunter finally fulfilled his sexual fantasies. His cries still echo throughout the walls, pleading for release. A thick cloud of fear fills the room and sits upon the hunter's shoulders. It brings him comfort. Alan had lived and breathed and died there. For a moment the rabbit had belonged to him.

The hunter sighs again. He holds the dog tag in his palm, clenching it tightly in his fist. Perhaps if he keeps squeezing hard enough the metal will sink beneath his skin, and the rabbit will be a part of him once again. Nothing happens. The rabbit is gone just like all of the others and the hunter once again finds himself alone and empty.

* * *

So far Sam is not enjoying his new school. It is hard being the new kid, but it is worse being the new kid and having just lost one of the few friends gained over the summer. He had spent a majority of his vacation time with the Frog brothers, and now that Alan is gone nothing seems to be right. Aside from his grandmother, whom he lost at a very young age, Sam has never witnessed death first hand. Alan's death had been so sudden and unnatural that he could not make sense of it. It was decided by Lucy and Michael that Sam should not be told the details of the murder. Whenever he would question them about what had happened to his friend the subject would be quickly changed. Edgar would probably know, but he did not want to ask him. His family's attempt to keep Sam in the dark was shattered the first day of school. It is nearly impossible to escape the ever growing gossip about the murder, and Sam had heard many different versions of what happened to Alan. Although he believed most of it to be fiction rather than fact, Sam was able to put together the basics by the most common themes in each story. Each time Alan had been strangled by something, and always ended up being raped. That was enough knowledge for Sam, perhaps more than he wanted to know.

Sam sits in his English class, doodling random markings on the corner of his notebook paper. Class has not yet officially started. The other students have busied themselves with conversations and excitedly talk about plans for the weekend. Sam does not bother to try to be social. He prefers to be on his own at the moment.

Behind him, Sam can hear a mixed group of students talking. Much to his dismay the topic is Alan.

"It's been two weeks today," a high female voice says.

"I thought it was Monday or something," replies another girl.

"No. Friday is when he went missing. Monday was when they found the body."

"That's so gross! My family goes to that park all the time. I'm never going there again. Like, what if more pop up?"

"Did you hear about how he died?" a male voice asked.

"I heard he was stabbed or something," says the girl with the higher voice.

"No," says the other. "I heard my parents talking about it. He got strangled by some pedophile. And he had weird markings all over him. It was supposed to be part of some fucked up sex act or something like that, probably something satanic."

"That's sick," says the boy. "Why would anyone want to rape him?"

Sam tightens the group on his pen. The nerve of these people.

"I thought he was kind of cute."

"The Frog brothers? Are you crazy? They're so weird."

"Hey! You can be cute and weird," the girl says defensively. "Besides, I never said I would have dated him or anything. I was just saying I could see why-."

That's it. Sam has heard enough. Feeling unnaturally aggressive, he turns around to face the chattering group. "Excuse me," he interrupts. The three pause for a moment, and stare blankly at him. "I know you don't care, but I would appreciate it if you would shut up," Sam says. His voice is unusually cool considering the anger that is bubbling inside of him. He continues: "Alan happens to be one of my best friends, and I am really tired of people talking about how he died, or if he deserved to be raped or not. It's pretty fucked up."

The solo boy in the group turns away and begins thumbing through his text book, now apparently too occupied to pay attention. The two girls exchange glances. "Sorry," the girl with the high voice apologizes quietly. Her green eyes sparkle with tears. At that moment Sam likes her; she really does seem sorry. The other girl picks at her nails, her cheeks tinted red with embarrassment. Sam turns around without replying. He feels quite satisfied with himself. That should shut them up. Well, at least for a little bit.

Halfway through class Sam is called into the hallway by one of the secretaries. "Your brother is coming to take you home," she informs him. "Why don't hand your teacher this note, and go get your stuff, Sweetie? Your brother will be out front." The woman hands Sam a piece of paper that has been signed by the principle.

He awkwardly returns to the room. Sam can feel the eyes following him as he walks down the aisle of desk, and tries his best to ignore them. He hands the paper over to his teacher. She skims over it before setting it down on her desk. "We won't be having any homework," she says. "You may want to look over yesterday's vocabulary, though. There may be a quiz on Monday." Sam nods, and quickly walks back to get his things. As he fills his book-bag, Sam wonders why Michael is picking him up so early in the school day. Whatever reason it is, Michael has good timing. He seriously doubted he could make it through another full day here.

When Sam gets to the school entrance he finds the remaining Frog brother leaning against the door, staring blankly at the wall. His expression is the same as ever; cold with an undertone of anger. Many things have changed in the past few weeks, but somehow Edgar had not. For this Sam is grateful. "Hey," he says."

Edgar turns his attention to Sam for a moment, and then returns to the wall. "I called Michael," he says dully.

Sam nods as he joins his friend at the door. "Thanks," he says. "I really can't stand it here. There's so many freaks that it makes you and-." Sam stops before he can say Alan's name. Edgar glances at Sam again, staring intently as if to dare Sam to say it.

The two stand in silence as they wait for Michael to arrive. Occasionally Sam turns around to check the window for his brother. Eventually, he shows up in their grandpa's blue car. "I'll go tell the secretary so no one will freak out when we're gone," Sam says. He dashes off, leaving Edgar to be the one to greet Michael. Edgar steps a couple feet back from the door in an attempt to make it seem like he was not waiting.

Michael enters the school. "Hey," he says after spotting Edgar. He looks around. "Is Sam ready?"

"He went to tell the people in the office," Edgar mumbles. Michael nods as he shoves his hands into his pockets. A shrill bell goes off, signaling that first period has ended. A stampede of students begins to fill the hallways. They run past, laughing and talking loudly, as they try to get to their lockers. A couple of girls slow down as they pass Michael and Edgar. One of them points at Michael. She whispers something to her girlfriends, and the group erupts into a fit of giggles as they continue walking, still eyeing him. Michael turns away, feeling slightly embarrassed by the incident. He looks Edgar, who continues to stare at a wall with a bored expression. Michael wishes that Sam would get back soon. Being alone with Edgar has always been awkward, even more so these days. Before it had only been Edgar's unnatural serious manner that prevented Michael from coming up with conversation, but now he could not look at the boy without feeling guilty. It is because of him that Edgar has lost his brother. It is his fault that Edgar is now alone. Michael feels the urge to apologize to Edgar right then and there, but cannot bring himself to do it. How can one possibly come up with a good enough apology for that?

Michael takes the boys back to the Emerson house. It had been Sam's idea. He wanted Edgar to come with, knowing full well that Michael will most likely ditch him. Edgar accepted right away. This will give him something else to do. The three boys sit quietly in the living room. No one bothers to make conversation. They are all busy in thought, each of them thinking about one thing; Alan. It is Sam who breaks the silence first.

"Do you know if the police are getting anywhere new?" he says, directing the question towards Edgar.

Michael looks up from his hands and waits anxiously for the reply.

Edgar watches his feet in deep though. He presses his boots together, and then opening in a v formation. He does this over and over again. "Still trying to get something out of my parents," Edgar says. "They're not going to get anywhere. My parents can barely remember our middle names."

"What are they?" Sam questions.

Edgar does not reply. He continues to play with his feet. His boots; Alan has a pair just like these. He had been wearing them, but they never showed up with the rest of him. Grandpa walks out of his private room and looks at the group, feeling confused. "What are you doing here?" he asks as he wipes his bloodied hands onto a rag.

Sam looks up. "Michael took us out of school."

The old man considers this. He nods, satisfied enough with the reason. "If you need something to do, I could always use some help."

"No thanks, Grandpa."

"Eh, suit yourself," he says. He tosses onto his shoulder. "What's wrong with all of you? You look like someone just-." Michael shoots him a look saying that he better be careful with finishing that sentence. "Oh yeah, the little one," he mumbles to himself.

"You know what I would do," Grandpa says loudly as he being to walk towards the stairs. "I would go out and fix it myself. All you need it to take care of those kinds of people is a bullet to the head. Maybe two to make sure."

Michael, Sam and Edgar sit quietly as Grandpa Emerson clunks up the stairs. Edgar knows that the crazy old man is right. There is only one way to solve this, and he will be the one to do it. Starting tomorrow, Edgar is going hunting.

* * *

**Well that is a bit short. It's nearly two in the morning, so this is not proof read. I will do it tomorrow, though. I probably should refrain from posting until I do some proof reading, but oh well. So, how many of you hate me now? Hehe. I'm sorry that I killed Alan! Trust me, it was not very easy, but I had to do it. I just feel it was the most logical scenario. And no, he will not being coming back. Alan is officially gone (at least in this story) I know I probably lost some readers, but thank you to all of those who will continue to stick with this! I can kind of almost sort of promise that there will be revenge for Alan. He/everyone else deserves it, I think. Who is in favor of revenge?**

**Off topic: We got a little bit of snow this weekend. I am happy because I really love snow. It makes me sad, though, because snow will make my driver's ed class a little more difficult. And I don't need more problems with that! I am a terrible driver. Hehe. My driver's ed teacher doesn't seem to like it much.**


	9. Chapter Nine

The Hunter

Chapter Nine

Edgar has been up since the early hours of the morning scavenging the neighborhood for any sort of clues. Today he is dedicating most of his time spying on a couple of suspects known to have committed similar crimes. Edgar had narrowed his focus down to one man for that day. Daniel Fierke; convicted nearly ten years ago He lives a couple houses down from the Frog family, so it was possibly that he could have grabbed Alan while he was walking home. Edgar had set up watch across the street in a pair of over grown bushes. This would be the safest place for observing considering the neighbor who owns the bushes is old and rarely leaves her house. She would not notice Edgar there, and hopefully neither would that Fierke guy.

So, this is how he will be spending his weekends now; hiding out in shrubbery and spying on some pervert. The bushes were not the most comfortable hiding spot. Edgar was constantly trying to settle himself into a position where he was not being poked by branches. This made it difficult to write. Not that Edgar had much to write down. He did not see much since Fierke kept his curtains closed. He decided that playing spy was not going to get anywhere. Edgar would have to go in if he wanted to make any progress.

He had walked right up to the house and knocked on the door. Edgar recognized the man right away. He works at a diner in town and is a regular in the comic store, and happened to a terrible nuisance in Edgar's opinion. The man was always trying to make small talk with the brothers; asking for their opinions on comics or random questions about their interests. Edgar shuddered as Fierke greeted him. Had this guy tried anything with Alan before? Did he look at Edgar too? How could he not have noticed this before?

Edgar scowled at the man, and told him they needed to talk. Fierke agreed and lead Edgar inside. This was probably stupid on Edgar's part, but he needed answers. Nothing happened. He did not get the answers he had hoped for, but Edgar felt it was safe enough to cross Fierke off the list. The man had said he was working the night Alan disappeared, and no, sadly he had not seen Alan after that. Edgar would have to look into the alibi, but he seemed to be telling the truth. Edgar could feel the man's eyes on him as he exited the house. A feeling of discomfort crept over him. He scratched at his skin, trying to rid the feeling. Daniel Fierke was defiantly a creep, but most likely not the creep who had killed his brother.

Edgar walks down the sidewalk, dragging his feet as he contemplates his next move. He wants to go back to the boardwalk, as useless as it is. He figures he should go check in on his father to make sure the entire store had been robbed clean. It will also be a good distraction. He needs one after that disturbing encounter with his neighbor. Edgar begins to wish that Alan was here or at least someone else so that he would not have to feel so alone. It is starting to make him feel insane. Edgar thought about bringing Sam along, but did not bother to ask since he didn't want to put his friend in danger. Also, it was unlikely that Michael would allow it. He would probably try to shut down Edgar's investigation too. So now Edgar must find his brother's murderer on his own. It is probably for the best, he believes.

Edgar steps off of the sidewalk and into the street. He is too lost in his thoughts to notice the car coming at him. The driver does not slow down. She continues to argue with her passenger, glaring at him as she continues to drive. The passenger, however, is unfazed by her angry rant. He watches as they speed towards the boy, waiting for his companion to notice. "You may want to stop before you run that kid over. Unless you want to, but I think that is kind of illegal," he tells her calmly.

The girl looks out the window and takes notice of Edgar for the first time. "Shit!" she curses loudly as she slams on her breaks. The car stops a foot in front of the boy. Edgar looks over, now realizing that he had a close encounter to death or serious injury.

"You're welcome," the passenger says brightly. The woman shoots him a look as she rolls down her window.

"What are you doing?" she asks Edgar.

Edgar looks at her with a bored expression. "Walking."

"You should watch where you're going, Bud."

Edgar shrugs. "I'm a pedestrian. I have the right away."

"He's got you there," the passenger says.

"Would you shut up," the woman growls quietly to him. She sticks her head out the window again. "You should still watch where you're going. You don't want to get ran over."

Edgar scowls. He knows who this woman is. It is that annoying detective girl, the one that is always coming over to his house and bothering his family. Edgar rolls his eyes before he continues walking. No idiotic Santa Carla detective is going to tell him what to do.

Alex sighs as she rolls up her window. "I hate kids. I really, really do."

"Did you realize who that was?" her partner asks. He watches Edgar as the boy goes further down the sidewalk.

"Some stupid kid?"

"No," he says. "The brother."

"Alan's?" Alex pauses. The headband; it should have been a dead giveaway. How did she not notice, she wonders. "What do you think he's up too."

"Who knows," Collin replies.

"Do you think we should follow him?"

"Nah," Collin says, turning his attention away from Edgar. "He won't listen to you. He doesn't like you."

Alex scowls. "I hate you."

"You hate everyone," Collin says as he unbuckles his seat belt. "Come on, let's get this over with. I don't want to spend my whole Saturday talking to child molesters."

The two detectives get out of the car. Alex looks around. It is not a very nice neighborhood. Most of the houses are rundown and look like they could use a good coat of paint. Across the street a group of scruffy looking boys chase each other across open lawns of decaying grass. A lone girl around the age of four sits on porch steps surrounded by dolls and stuffed animals. She talks animatedly to her toys, her little face scrunched up in displeasure as she whacks a plush rabbit on the head. A woman, most likely the mother, sits on a lawn chair on the porch. She lazily flips through a magazine, occasionally glancing up to check on the children and to yell at them to play nice. A red rubber ball bounces across the street, landing near where Alex stands. She picks it up, and looks over as one of the kids runs towards her to retrieve it. The young boy stops short, eyeing the detective suspiciously. With a smile, Alex tosses the ball to him. He catches it and runs away without so much of a thank you. Alex shakes her head. She hates kids.

"Are you ready?" Collin asks as he picks through his wallet.

Alex turns her head sharply towards him. "Of course I am," she replies as she heads towards the house. Collin shakes his head, smiling to himself, as he follows. Their destination is a little better kept than the other houses in the neighborhood. It has been painted a pale yellow, and eerily resembles a home that looks like it could belong in a fairy tale book. "Who paints their house yellow?" Collin asks, making a face.

"Plenty of people do," Alex replies as she rings the doorbell.

"Only crazy people."

Alex rolls her eyes. "Try not to be rude. We would have an easier time getting answers if you stop being a jerk to people."

"I can't promise you anything."

The door opens. A pudgy man wearing a sweater similar to the color of his house stands in the doorway. "Are you Daniel Fierke?" Alex asks.

The man nods. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Collin flashes his badge. "Police," he says. "We need to talk to you about a couple of things."

"What about?"

"We're investigating the murder of Alan Frog," Alex answers. "We're just going through the neighborhood, checking things out. Do you mind if we ask you some questions?"

Daniel smiles. "No, of course. Come in! Come in!" Fierke leads his visitors inside. "You just missed the brother," he says as he leads them down a hallway and into a living room. The two detectives look around as the head towards the couch. The walls are covered with a ghastly floral design. Just about every piece of furniture in the room appeared to be an antique. Collin notices a pair of stuffed birds sitting on the mantle of an old marble fireplace. Both animals have been dressed in people's clothing, and set up to look like they are at some sort of tea party. "See, I told you he had to be crazy," Collin whispers to Alex as they sit down on the stiff velvet sofa. She presses her lips into a thin line in attempt to resist giggling.

"Can I get you anything?" Fierke asks. He sits down in a rocking chair across from them.

"No thanks," Collin says. "So, you said Edgar was over here earlier?"

Daniel smiles again. "Yes," he says. "He was over here earlier trying to play police. It looks like he's a couple steps ahead of you guys." Collin scowls. "Don't worry," he goes on. "I didn't touch him. Everything I have ever done is consensual."

"So you consensually raped those other kids?" Collin asks.

Daniel frowns. "I have never raped anyone."

"Yeah, funny you should say that. I have record saying otherwise," Collin says. "Besides, having sex with a minor is considered rape."

"Only by law," Daniel replies. "There are many stupid laws in this country, that being one of them."

Alex cuts in before Collin could do anymore damage. "Where you very familiar with Alan Frog?" she asks.

Fierke looks at her. "I can't say. I don't really remember what he looks like."

"But you know his brother?" Collin asks.

"Well, yes."

"And you don't know what the other looks like?"

"Well-."

"Wait," Alex cuts in. "I have a picture. Somewhere." She digs through her file, searching for one of the pictures they were given before. "Well, I did."

"Here," Collin says as he reaches for his wallet. He opens it and takes out a photograph of Alan. Alex looks at her partner feeling a little confused. She watches as he reluctantly hands it over to the man, who gladly accepts it. Daniel studies the picture, smiling as he runs a finger Alan's cheek. "You can give that back now," Collin says, his voice edged with anger. The man looks up and smiles at him.

"Yes, I remember him," he says he hands the photograph back to Collin. Collin takes it and carefully returns it to its place in the wallet. "I used to stop by the comic store they work at every so often; play pinball, take a look around at the merchandise."

"Are you talking about comic books or kids?" Collin asks. Alex delivers him a sharp kick that he ignores.

Daniel grins. "Whatever you want," he says.

"Did you ever talk to him?" Alex asks.

"A couple of times, but he never said very much. He was always with that brother of his. It was hard to catch them apart." He pauses. "You don't think I killed him, do you?"

"Well a kid in your neighborhood that just so happens to be in your targeted age range shows up raped and murdered," Collin says. "It sounds a little suspicious to me."

"We're also talking to everyone," Alex quickly adds.

"I read about it in the paper," Fierke says. "While can say that I envy the lucky man for being able to get a piece of that, I do not approve of the way he did. I would never do anything like that to a kid. I am a child lover. I wouldn't force anyone into doing something they did not want to do, let alone strangle the. Isn't that what happened to him? Someone strangled or suffocated him?"

Collin scowls. "You are just as-."

Alex decides this would be a good time to interrupt. "What sorts of things did you talk about?" she asks.

Daniel shrugs. "Comics and stuff. I tried to get them to open up and talk about other things, but they never did."

"Were you familiar with their parents?"

"I saw them every once in awhile," he answers. "I don't think they were ever sober. It was mostly those two boys on their own."

"And I'm sure you took full advantage of that," Collin says. Daniel grins again. Collin struggles with the urge to punch that smile right off his face. Sick, twisted little freak, he growls to himself.

"Like I said, I only talked to them," Daniel replies. "Maybe just look, but never touch. Besides, I wouldn't dare try anything with the brother around. That boy is like a pit-bull. He did a better job than you with asking questions. One of the first things he asked for was an alibi, and you haven't even done that yet."

"Do you have one?" Alex asks.

"Of course. I was working until close at Brownie's. I was there until past midnight cleaning up with the owner. You can go and ask him if you like."

"We will," Collin says as he jots down the name. Brownie's Diner; he had taken his mother there once. Was Fierke working there then?

"Anymore questions? I have some outfits I would like to finish today."

"For your birds?" Collin asks, pointing to the pair of stuffed birds.

Daniel smiles. "Different ones," he says.

Collin looks at his partner as if to say "I told you he was crazy." Alex shakes her head as she gets up. "I think we're good," she says. "Thank you for your time."

"It was my pleasure," Daniel says, also getting up. "Would you like me to lead you to the door?"

"No thanks. I think we can find it ourselves. Bye."

"Good luck with your bird things," Collin says as they head towards the hallway.

The two leave the house without saying anything. "Are you alright?" Alex asks once they reach the car.

"Just dandy," he replies. "How many more do we got."

"Four."

"Four? There are five of those people in this neighborhood."

Alex shrugs as she opens her door. "I guess so."

"Jesus, it's no wonder someone took that kid."

"Do you want me to do the next one?" Alex asks as they get into the car. "You can wait in here if you want."

"No thanks, Al. I think I can handle it."

They drive down a block before stopping at the next house. Collin starts to rant about wasting gas when they can very well just walk to the freak's house. Alex ignores him. "I didn't know you kept a picture," she says thoughtfully as she parks the car.

Collin shrugs. "I always do."

"Why?"

"Just a reminded of what's important," he says. "I know you think I'm a dick for going after the parents, and probably for what I did to that guy, but I have to. I will walk over whoever I have to as long as I get that kid some justice. And I don't care if I hurt their feelings in the process. It's my job."

Alex nods slowly. "You are kind of a jerk."

"So I've heard," Collin says with a smirk. "Let's get this over with. I have a feeling that I am going to have to get extremely wasted tonight to forget all of this."

"Hopefully Edgar hasn't already beaten us to this guy," Alex says as she opens the door. "Do you think we should do something about that?"

"I told you I'd have social services take care of that," he replies. "They're supposed to make a visit within this week. It's about damned time they did."

"I still don't like that idea."

"You know what? Maybe I should draft him as my new partner instead. At least he'll have the guts to do some actual work."

"See, this is why people think you are a jerk."

* * *

Edgar takes a break at the board walk, sitting upon it as legs dandle down above the ocean. He rests his throbbing head against the cool railing. Thoughts still swim rapidly about since his first interview. So many questions, so many possibilities but nothing seems to fit. It is only day one of his investigation, and already things are starting to look hopeless. Edgar chews on his tongue. Who would want to kill Alan? He sighs, feeling defeated. This would be so much easier if it had been a vampire or something else in the supernatural field. Tracking down evil humans are much more difficult, especially when the signs are not as obvious.

Edgar looks down into the ocean. How easy it would be to just lean over a little bit more and slip through the railing, falling into a watery grave. It is so simple, so perfect. He could do it right now and no one would be able to stop him. He could be just as cold and dreamless as Alan then. No one could bother them anymore.

No, Edgar cannot do that. He has a job to do. If Alan must die then so shall his killer. There will be no rest for Edgar until that monster feels his justice.

"Edgar?" a female voice asks.

Edgar takes his attention away from the waves and looks up, half expecting to see his mom. It's not, of course. His mother is probably still in bed. It is Sam's mom who calls for him.

"Sweetie, what are you doing here by yourself?" she asks as she walks towards him.

Edgar looks back at the water. "Nothing," he mumbles.

Lucy sits down beside him, carefully swinging her feet over the edge. "I stopped by your house earlier this morning to check in before work," she tells him. "You were still sleeping. Your mother was up, though. She seems to be a little bit better. How are you feeling?"

How is he feeling? Hatred, that is what Edgar feels. He hates everything, including that woman who calls herself his mother. He can't stand her or her annoying sobbing. She probably does not even know what she is crying about. "I'm fine," Edgar says.

Lucy pauses. "Why don't you come back to the store with me? Sam should be stopping by soon, and you can help us out. That is if you want to."

Edgar considers this. There is little point to looking at more people. He's had enough of that for one day. He could piece together his notes and try to make something out of them later tonight when he is stuck at home. Edgar pulls his legs up and stands with help from the railing. Once Lucy is also up, she pulls Edgar into a tight hug. He goes rigid at the sudden touch for a moment, but then allows himself to relax a bit. She is so much warmer than his own mother, and smells of flowery perfume rather than pot. Edgar cannot remember the last time someone had hugged him like this. This is when the grief starts knowing again. He should have hugged Alan more. He didn't do it very often, not often enough. They were too busy and too serious for those sorts of things. Monster slayers don't hug. But he should have. He should have never let Alan go. Edgar buries his head into Lucy's shoulder.

"It's ok," she says as she strokes his hair. "It's going to be alright."

No, it's not, Edgar tells himself. It will never be alright.

* * *

Star is once again working a shift at the Dead Rat alone. She has lucked out this time, though, by getting one of the earlier time slots. Now she would not have to deal with all the obnoxious drunken partiers. At the moment the bar is nearly empty aside from a couple of lone men. Star is busy wiping down the tables, a useless task she was assigned considering that in a matter of hours they will be a mess again. She hears the door open, and looks over to see the new arrival. It is a middle aged man, one that she recognizes from a week or so again. He is the one that came in during the more wild hours. "Looks like I came at a better time," he says, smiling to her as he takes a seat at the counter.

Star smiles back. "It should be quiet like this for a little bit longer," she says as she finishes cleaning the table. "Hopefully I will be out by then."

"Plans for tonight?"

"No, not really," she says. "I'll probably just go home."

"What happened to the boyfriend?"

Star hesitates before answering, finding it a little odd that the man would remember that. "He hasn't really been up for doing anything," she answers.

"Is he still looking for your friend?"

Star freezes for a moment. Alan. This man must not read the paper, or tune into anything news related. "No," she says slowly. "They already found him."

"Oh?" he says, his voice peeking with interest. "How is he?"

"Dead," she replies bluntly. The word sounds ridiculous even after this much time. "they found his body awhile ago."

The hunter watches her, his eyes glimmering with pleasure. The sadness of her tone is delicious. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says. "I'm guessing it wasn't some sort of accident then."

"No. Someone killed him." A tear plops onto the freshly washed table.

"Oh," the hunter says again. "That is just terrible."

Star nods as she wipes the droplet away with the rag. "It is," she says. "It really is. They did such horrible things to him. Someone even wrote "whore" on him. Isn't that just disgusting; raping a child and then calling them are whore? I know he was fourteen, but he was still just a baby really. He had so much ahead of him. I can't believe that anyone would want to take it away like that."

The hunter nods in agreement. "It is terrible," he repeats. "I hope they catch the bastard."

"Me too," Star says as she walks towards the counter. "It just messed up everything. Michael is so upset about it. he blames himself because we were the last ones to see Alan. We offered him a ride, but he said he wanted to talk home. So we left him. If we knew." She pauses to think of a word to use. "If we knew that some monster," she continues "was going to hurt him we would have never let him go."

"Hind sight is 20/20," the hunter says.

"I know, but that poor little thing." She cannot go on. It is too dreadful to think about.

A blond woman enters the Dead Rat wearing an expression of extreme exhaustion. She heads straight towards the counter, claiming a stool a couple down from the hunter. The woman releases a heavy sigh as she rests her head in her hands. "Long day?" the hunter asks. She looks over at him and nods.

"Could you just get anything?" she asks Star. "Please? I don't care what. Just give me the strongest you've got."

"Sure," Star says. She turns to the hunter. "Do you need anything?"

"Sure! Why not? It is the weekend after all," he says with a smile. "You can get me whatever she's having. I'm not a very picky person." Star nods and turns back towards the liquor. "So what has you down?" the hunter asks the blond.

"Work," she answers. "I swear I have the worst job ever. I'm telling you, I would love to quit right now."

"What do you do?"

"Detective," she says. "I've been working on this horrendous case for the past week, and after today I am about to quit. I swear the people we have to talk to." She shudders. "But that's my job. This is what I wanted to do."

"Can I ask what case you are working on? Or am you not allowed to talk about it?"

Alex takes a sip from the drink Star had given her. She cringes at the taste of it. Alcohol had never really appealed to her, but tonight she craved it like nothing else. "It's a murder case of a kid. The one that was dumped in the park," she says, setting the glass down.

Star looks up. "Have you found anything new?" she asks.

"I really can't say," Alex replies rather sharply. She eyes the dark haired bartender. Another crime buff looking for details, she wonders. There are always so many of them; always asking questions and trying to put in their insights as if they could solve the case on their own.

"Oh," Star says, her tone carrying an undertone of sadness. "I was only wondering. I knew Alan."

The detective's expression softens. "I'm sorry," she says. She quickly downs the rest of her drink, shivering as sets the glass back down on the counter. Disgusting. "I would say something if I could, but I am really not allowed to. Sorry."

"It's fine. Do you want me to get you another?"

Alex shakes her head. "No thanks. Um, could you tell me what he was like?"

"Who?" Star asks as she picks up the empty glass. "Alan?"

Alex nods again. "Yeah. I always wonder, you know, what they were like before all of it."

Star thinks about this. What could she say about Alan Frog? "I didn't know him all that well," she says. "He was pretty quiet. The few times I heard him talk it was usually vampire related."

"He was into vampires?" Alex asks, her eyebrows arching in interest. This is odd, she thinks. Maybe he got caught up in some weird sort of cult.

"Well, not really," Star says with a smile. "He and his brother hate them. It was kind of their mission to keep them out of Santa Carla."

"But vampires aren't real."

Star shrugs. "They believed so."

The two girls fall into silence. The hunter watches them closely, especially Star. Her mind seems to be somewhere else at the moment. He wishes he could pry her head open and see her thoughts. "He was a good kid, though," Star says mostly to herself. "My boyfriend, Michael, has a little brother that is good friends with Edgar and Alan. There was one night when Michael and I got back to his house kind of late, and those three were already passed out in the living room. I remember we laughed at how sweet and normal they looked," she says, smiling to herself.

The hunter smiles too. His mind drifts back to all of those wonderful nights where Alan had been in bed with him. He could still feel the small, warm body pressed up against him, how his chest moved peacefully against the hunter's arms.

"Did you know his parents at all?" the detective asks.

Star tenses up. She had heard an upset Sam talking about how they trying to get rid of parents and send Edgar somewhere else. "They're nice," she says shortly. "They haven't been the same since Alan went missing. It's really sad."

The detective picks at her nails. This was not the answer she was looking for. "Yeah," she says.

A tiny bell rings, signaling a new customer has entered. The hunter looks towards the door. Dark curly hair; him, that stupid older brother. His mind flashes back to that night at the boardwalk, the night of the magic show where he first got to touch his rabbit. He remembers Michael standing beside Alan, how he had played with the boy's hair, the way Alan had looked at him, annoyed but comfortable enough to allow the contact. He thought of the two standing across the street, staring at him, and the protective way Michael had placed his arm around the boy, as if he already knew the plans the hunter had for the child. Fear begins to set in. Michael had talked to him, looked him directly in the eye. He will recognize the hunter. He knows. But he can't, the hunter tells himself. If he did he surely would have done something by now.

Michael sits down next to him. Panic shoots through the hunter's vein. He ducks his head so that he may not be seen.

"Hi," Star greets him. She is smiling now, a real smile. She was not expecting Michael to show up tonight.

"Hey."

"Where's Sammy?"

"At home," Michael says. "I asked him if he wanted to do something, but he said he wanted to stay home."

"Poor thing."

The hunter can feel Michael looking in his direction. Damn it. Why did he have to come here tonight? This was a bad idea, a terrible idea. Why couldn't he have just stayed home like he had first planned? Why did he need to talk to this girl again? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! As long as he doesn't say anything then there is a possibility for a quick-.

"Don't I know you?"

The hunter cringes at the question. Damn it! Why- oh, but wait. That was not Michael who asked, the hunter realizes. It had been a female voice, the one belonging to the detective girl.

"This is Michael," Star says.

"Oh," Alex says. The hunter begins to get up from his seat. "I think I interviewed you."

Michael glances over at the blond woman and scowls. Yes, he knows her. It's one of those detectives. He is starting to believe that Edgar was right when he said that the police of Santa Carla are incompetent. "Yeah," Michael says.

The hunter pulls out a twenty dollar bill and places it on the counter. "No need for change," he mumbles as he shoves his wallet back into his pocket. Before Star could thank him, the hunter quickly walks towards the door. He must get home. He must return to where it is safe, and where his rabbit still exists.

* * *

**Well, I can't say I am too happy with this chapter. It seems a bit boring, doesn't it? On a brighter note: We just a blizzard and it makes me happy. It looks little glitter is flying all around. I just adore glitter! Anyways, thank you for reading and thanks to all of those who review! **


	10. Chapter Ten

The Hunter

Chapter Ten

It has been two months since Edgar has seen Alan. Sixty days without his brother, and while no time seems to have passed for him, the world still continues to turn whether Edgar likes it or not. Slowly Alan begins to fade away. His death becomes less of an interest as newer and just as horrifying crimes snatch the headlines and lack of new evidence of the case deteriorates peoples' interest. All of the curios and morbid looks Edgar had to endure during school becomes less consistent, and is once again becoming just the weird comic book kid that should be avoided. This is what he wanted; to be left alone. Edgar knew that people would start forgetting, that the police will stop showing up as often. Even Edgar's own investigation has slowed down. All of his spying and mediocre interviews left him with little clues and nearly nothing to go off on. People return to their own lives, finished with their mourning and carry on with their old daily routines as the murdered child lies in the ground. Two months have passed. It is time to move on. But Edgar cannot. The wound goes far too deep to simply leave, and no amount of time can possibly heal it, let alone sixty days.

People have tried, though, to help him with the healing process. Go out and do something. Keep busy. It will help; you just have to keep moving. But not even the blinding Santa Carla sun could not melt the icy grip Death holds on his heart. That is how everything feels to Edgar now; cold. Grief leaves a peculiar feeling, one where someone can feel perfectly warm on the outside in a physical sense, but on the inside it is quite the opposite. It is a sickening coldness that takes over every sense of the body. There is no escape; no avoiding it for there is no cure for a broken heart.

But closure! You need closure, they would tell Edgar. Especially his aunt Katherine, she is a big supporter of starting to move on. "It is not healthy," she would tell her nephew. "It is not good for you to live in the past. You need to start living again."

Living? Without Alan? How could Edgar possibly pick of the remaining threads of his old life and begin to create something new? They are far too broken, too frayed to ever be used to rebuild. But Edgar needs to move on. He must. On one of his aunt's weekly visits to help keep the social workers at bay, Katherine had told Edgar that he should go into their room and sort Alan's belongings. "You need to go in there sometime," she had pleaded. "You can't keep sleeping on the couch. It's not good for you." Edgar had refused. He had no need to go in there, everything was fine where it is, where Alan had left it. It was not until two months later did Edgar find a reason to go into that room. He remembered something, something important.

Dog tags.

Alan always wore dog tags, but they had not been recovered. Whether he had worn them the night he disappeared, Edgar could not remember. What he did remember, though, was that his brother was not buried with them. Edgar could smack himself or that. Alan had rarely gone a day without those dog tags, and now he will spend the rest of forever without them. Edgar must find them. Alan needs his dog tags.

He decided to make the journey upstairs while his father was off at work and his mother was passed out in her room. This way he would have no distractions. Edgar stands in front of the closed door, his hand tightly clamped around the brass knob. I can do this, he tells himself. It is only a room. Our room. I have been in there before. I can do this. It will bring closure. It will be ok.

Edgar sighs. This is ridiculous. It has been two months; he should be ready for this now. After a moment of hesitation, Edgar turns the knob and slowly opens the door. Sixty days passed, and not a thing has changed. It is still the same mess that the brothers had left that morning; unmade beds, various articles of clothing thrown across the floor, random comic books cluttered on a wooden desk. Everything is still there. Edgar looks about the room. Those dog tags have to be here somewhere.

One step in.

_Edgar, turn off the light._

Two steps in.

_Two brothers race up stairs, trying to be beat the other to the bedroom._

Three steps.

_Edgar, seriously turn off the light. I'm trying to sleep._

The floor begins to sway beneath Edgar's feet. He stumbles, pausing a moment to regain his composure. The walls feel like they are closing in. Everything seems so much smaller, so crowded. There are too many memories passing through his head. A growing feeling of being overwhelmed passes through Edgar. He shakes it off, and tries to regain to focus. He needs to find those dog tags. Edgar takes another step forward. His foot lands on something soft. He looks down; clothing. But what is that beneath it? Edgar picks up a shirt and tosses it aside so that he may reach the object. It is Alan's beret.

_Edgar, have you seen my hat?_

He was missing it that day, and they had left without it since they were already running behind schedule. It's just a hat, Edgar had told his brother. Forget it.

Edgar hesitates before picking it up, unsure if it is a good idea to disrupt it. Just a hat, he repeats as he bends over to pick it up. He holds it carefully as if it will dissolve with any sudden touch. Alan's hat and he did not get to keep that as well. Edgar knows he should return it. It is his brother's after all; he will need it. But Edgar needs it too. He presses the dark material to his face, breathing in the scent. It still smells like Alan.

The grief comes again, clawing at Edgar's throat. The animal will not rest until he breaks. He breathes in deeper, consuming as much of Alan as he can. For a brief moment Edgar can feel him; he is there and none of this has happened. As Edgar moves the hat down away from his face, he sees his brother's bed, empty and unmade. These are the moments when reality comes crashing down on Edgar again. Alan is gone, and there is nothing he can do about it. But Edgar must not think about that now. He needs to find those dog tags. Maybe if he finds them, then he can keep the beret. Alan wouldn't mind.

Edgar begins looking throughout the room. At first he is careful to not disrupt it too much. It must look the same as Alan had left it. Something has to stay the same. As he gets further into the search, the more frantic Edgar becomes. Clothes fly across the room. Drawers pulled open and their contents harshly pushed about. Where are they? Edgar wonders with a clenched jaw. Where are those fucking dog tags? They have to be around here somewhere.

Edgar flops onto the floor, leaning up against the side of his bed. He releases a loud, frustrated sigh as he claws at his overgrown hair. They can't be gone. They can't be, he tells himself. Edgar glances at the floor, spotting the beret lying on the floor beside him.

_Edgar, have you seen my hat?_

_Forget it. We need to go._

_But-._

_It's just a hat. You can get it later._

Edgar bites his lip as he fights back tears. Two months. Sixty days. Time does not heal all wounds.

* * *

Every night is the same for Michael. He goes to bed plagued thoughts, and awakes in a dream involving Alan. The dreams vary from night to night. In some Alan comes to him perfectly fine. Michael will be walking down the boardwalk, and then he would see Alan running towards him. There are no bruises on his face, no markings around his neck. Behind him is man who is also running. Michael cannot make out the stranger's face. He is a blur chasing after the boy, growing dangerously closer to him. Alan leaps forward and tightly grabs onto Michael. He buries his face into Michael's neck, begging for the elder to take him home. Michael hugs him tightly, and looks up, ready to defend the child against the mysterious blur. It is nowhere to be seen. He relaxes now knowing that Alan is safe. Michael scoops the boy up, and carries him away.

Dreams like these are a rarity. Most often they are nightmares haunted by a more gruesome looking Alan. In these, Michael awakes in his bed to find Alan standing beside him. The boy stares at him, his eyes completely removed from his face. A trail of blood trickles down from his empty eye sockets in the form of tears, dripping across his cheeks. Dark bruises decorate the pale, waxy looking skin of his neck and face. Michael wants to look away, but cannot bring himself to do so. He can only stare at the half-dead child.

"I want to go home," Alan says. "Take me home, Michael." He reaches forward, his arms outstretched towards Michael, begging to be hugged. Michael looks at his hands. They are covered with dirt, and a couple of nails are missing from the small fingers.

"I can't," Michael tells him.

"I want to go home, Michael," Alan repeats as he crawls onto the bed. "It hurts." Startled, Michael jumps back as the boy moves closer to him. "I'm so tired," he says, snuggling up against Michael. Blood from his eye sockets smears against Michael's shirt. Michael grows rigid as thin arms wrap around his neck. He's so cold, Michael realizes. So cold and stiff.

"It hurts so much, Michael. I want to go home."

Michael awkwardly rubs Alan's back. He can smell the boy's hair as he leans in closer. It smells of dirt and earthworms; death. "Take me home, Michael."

But he never does. Michael always wakes up, feeling sick and just as exhausted as he was when he went to sleep. This is how most of his nights are, plagued by his little brother's dead friend. Michael had never thought about him much when he was alive, but now that Alan is dead that is all Michael can think about. It does not matter what time of day it is or what he is doing, Alan would somehow manage to sneak into his thoughts. He could be kissing Star, and then his mind flashes to Alan. He sees a large body pressing down against the boy, forcing their lips to meet as Alan tries to turn his head away. Things will start heating up with Star, and Michael will think of Alan lying on a bed, the same person holding the struggling body down, as he rapes the child.

_Michael, it hurts so much._

Then Michael has to stop. He can't do anything without thinking about Alan. Star said it was ok when he told her, said that she understood. Michael still feels guilty about it. All he can think about is that Alan. He can barely remember the one from before; the one that friend's with his brother, the one that was alive. His hair had been a dark brown, Michael could remember that. But what color were his eyes? He could barely remember how Alan's voice sounded. He only knows the shaking, sobbing one from the dreams. This is now how he should be remembered. Michael should have paid more attention.

Tonight will not be about Alan, though. Lucy had convinced both of her sons to out to dinner with her once she finished working. It would be good for them, especially Sam. He has not left the house much aside from going to school and occasionally hanging out with Edgar. He spends most of his time at home spacing out and reading comments. Michael hates to see his little brother this way. His pain is so obvious, and there is nothing Michael can do to fix it. But tonight will better. They will have a normal family outing, just like the ones they used to have.

The two brothers walk down the sidewalk towards Lucy's store. Michael looks around at all of the other people passing by. Santa Carla is less crowded now that summer is over and the tourists have all returned home. Through the thin crowd Michael spots a lone man standing behind some sort of makeshift stand. He recognized it right way. It's the same magic show they had seen before. Sam had been so impressed by the man's tricks the first time, maybe it will brighten his mood now. "Hey," Michael says. Sam glances up at his older brother. "Look." He points across the street to where the magician had set up his table.

Sam blinks, remembering the last time he had seen it. "So?"

"You don't want to see it?"

"He was kind of a loser."

Michael grins. "Come on. We can stay until Mom gets out."

Sam considers this. "Fine," he says as he steps into the street. Michael follows him, hoping that this will be the ticket for momentary happiness.

The hunter is busy rearranging the items on his table when he feels a presence coming towards him. He looks up. It is the friend and his brother. How interesting. The hunter grins as the two young men stop at his table. "Hello!" he says in a loud voice. The brothers exchange looks. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. "Haven't I seen you around here before?" the hunter asks.

"Yeah," Michael says. "We watched you do a trick or two awhile back."

"You cut a ball in half," Sam adds.

"Oh yes!" the hunter exclaims. "I remember now. But there was more of you, wasn't there? Could your friends not make it today?"

Michael cringes at the mention of Edgar and Alan. Great, he thinks, so much for a distraction. He looks down his brother, hoping he was not upset by this. Sam seems to be unfazed. He stares intently at the magician, focusing down on his chest. The hunter quickly glances to where the blue eyes are directed. A pair of silver dog tags hangs openly against his shirt. The hunter had taken to wearing them as a way to keep his rabbit close. A wave of panic rushes through his body. Does the boy recognize them? He can feel the metal burning through his shirt. How could he, they look no different from any other dog tags. The hunter grins at Sam, his smile stretching too far across his face as he tries to hide his growing anxiety. The blue eyes flicker up to meet his. He knows, the hunter thinks. He must distract the boy.

"So," the hunter says. "Where are your little friends?"

"Busy," Michael answers.

The hunter continues to watch the younger brother. Sam is still watching him, unbothered by the mention of his fallen friend. "That's too bad," the hunter says. "Would you like to see another magic trick?"

Michael looks at Sam. The boy is too preoccupied with staring at the strange magician. "Sammy?" he says, nudging his brother with his elbow. Sam looks up at him. "Did you want to see a magic trick?"

Sam looks at the magician again. The hunter grins, trying to resist the urge to rip those big blue eyes right from the kid's face if he does not stop staring. He will do it; he will tear them out and chuck them into the street so that he may escape the accusing eyes. Sam turns to his brother again. "No," he says. "Let's go find Mom."

Michael shrugs. "Sorry," he says to the hunter. "I guess not. Thanks, though."

"No problem," the hunter replies with a smile. "Have a nice night."

"Thanks. You too. Come on, Sammy."

As the two brother turn away, the hunter quickly stuffs the dog tags into his shirt. Damn him for being so careless. And damn that little brat for looking at them. But what could he do? He's a child, no one will believe him if he mentions it. This brings the hunter some comfort. He is still safe.

Nearly five minutes later Lucy finally gets off from her shift, and meets up with her boys. They go to usual restaurant, Brownie's Diner; the same one they had gone to with the Frog brothers during the summer. Sam remains quiet until they entered the diner, and Lucy runs off to use the bathroom. "Did you see what that guy was wearing?" he asks Michael quietly. "The magician guy?"

Michael thinks back. Khaki pants, red sweater and white collared shirt; nothing unusual. "No. Why?"

"He was wearing dog tags."

Was he? Michael couldn't remember. "So?"

"Alan's dog tags," Sam adds.

Michael looks at his brother. "Sammy, they could have been anyone's dog tags."

"But they never found Alan's."

"Maybe he wasn't wearing them."

"He was," Sam says. "He always did, and those are his. I know they are."

"Why would that guy have them?"

"Because he killed Alan."

"You're going to need more evidence than that, Sammy."

"But, Mike, I know those are Alan's.

Michael does not reply. He turns to the man standing behind the counter. Daniel, as his name tag says, smiles at them. "Are you guys ready to order?" he asks, keeping his eyes on Sam. Michael moves closer to Sam. He does not like the way this guy is looking at his baby brother.

"We're waiting for our mom," Michael answers. He slings an arm around his brother's shoulders, letting the man know Sam is his. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go find a seat."

As the boys went to find a table, Michael started to think about what Sam had said. Could he be right about the magician? It was unlikely; tons of people wear dog tags. They could have come from a place other then Alan's neck. He had touched Alan, though, Michael remembered. Could he have been thinking perverted thoughts while he held Alan's hand for that brief moment, right when they were all there? Michael shudders at the idea of it. No, he couldn't have. Michael probably would have noticed if something was going on. The magician was a little creepy, that is for sure, but being creepy does not make you a murderer or child rapist. That guy is too dorky looking to have done all of those brutal things to Alan. Sam must be over thinking.

* * *

**Excuse the shortness and the mehness of this chapter. It's been a long week. I'm ready for this month to be over with. I'll try to make up for it next time, though! Thank you again to all of my loyal readers and reviewers! **


	11. Chapter Eleven

The Hunter

Chapter Eleven

The hunter can feel his world starting to unravel around him. Not completely, but still slowly starting to come apart, and it is all thanks to the friend. In some way the hunter finds this amusing. He could go right up to the police and have a nice chat without them without registering on their radar. He was able to get in direct contact with his rabbit's parents without notice. So much for a mother's intuition. The hunter can barely consider it that much of a victory, though. It was quite obvious that the couple were oblivious to everything that could not be smoked. There was also the one girl, the doe eyed bartender that he had talked to a couple of times. She had suspected nothing either. It was easy. He was in the clear. It was only a matter of time before the case slipped from memory. Commoners have short attention spans; it would not take long. At least, that is what the hunter believed up until a couple days ago. It was not the police who started to catch on to him, and of course it was not the parents. It was the friend who started to pick at him. That boy, that silly, overly fashionable child somehow managed to catch on to him. This surprised the hunter, of course, considering he would not have guessed that the boy was sharp enough to take notice such a smart detail. But he did. He saw the dog tags, and it was only a matter of time until he told the rabbit's brother.

Maybe, the hunter thought. Maybe he won't. The friend could have just shrugged it off, second guessing himself. Perhaps the hunter over imagined the friend's observation. He could have been only spacing out as children tend to do. But the hunter could not forget those blue eyes staring directly at the dog tags. He had to have known, or at least thought he did. No matter what, the hunter knew he was safe even if the friend did tell the rabbit's brother. They were just dog tags; one will need more evidence than that to prove someone is a murderer, and there was no chance they will find anything else. They would not even be able to find out his identity. Only his sister knew who he truly is. There would be no name for them to track down, no more evidence to recover. At least, there shouldn't be, the hunter had tucked away any loose threads that be spotted; at least the ones that he was able to recall. He's in the clear. He's home free. Whatever you want to call it, the hunter believes he is just about safe, and soon he will be able to head out and move onto the next town. He was not all that happy about leaving, of course. It would mean having to momentarily leave behind his favorite rabbit, whom he still liked to visit on occasion. But the hunter must leave before he goes crazy. He is in a desperate need for a change of scenery. The people of Santa Carla become boring after a certain amount of time, and the hunter has to leave so that he may observe a new flock of people and occasionally finding a new rabbit to hunt. This is what he plans to do once he is sure that the murder case is cold enough that he may leave without it seeming suspicious, and hopefully that will be before the brother and friend are able to track him down.

Before he could up and leave Santa Carla for a little vacation, the hunter had to make sure that he visited his rabbit one last time. He did this as often as he could in random, sporadic time slots, carefully choosing moments of the day when most people were too preoccupied to stop by the cemetery. This was usually during the day when most people were at work and school or during the night when people are likely to be at home, sleeping. It was never a problem running into people even at odd hours of the day. His precious rabbit did not have a very large fan base. He had his brother, of course, but the hunter knew that the boy would not be coming out any time soon. He had no means of travel and was most likely not ready to visit his deceased brother's grave. The parents were most defiantly out of the question, and the hunter has yet to see the friend or anyone else out here. There were never any flowers or other sorts of memorabilia, and the hunter never left any. It would bring up too many questions if anyone else did ever show up. He was always alone with his rabbit, just the way he likes it. Today, however, the hunter finds that he is not the only one that has taken his time out of the day to visit Alan. It is a man unrecognizable to him at distance, well dressed with dark hair and looking to be in his mid to late thirties. This stranger did not frighten the hunter into retreat. No. It intrigued him more than anything. He must find out the identity of the man who dares to stand before his rabbit.

The hunter parks his car off to the side of the dirt road of the cemetery. He keeps his eyes on the man, watching him carefully. The stranger does nothing but stand there, no talking or any sort of movement. That is what the hunter does during his visits. He stays quiet just in case one of the detectives got smart and decided to bug the grave site. It was not worth the risk, he would just have to make up the conversation in his mind as he did in bed. The suited man does not notice that he is not alone until he hears a fit of coughing. He glances to his left, seeing a middle-aged man heading towards his direction. He looks vaguely familiar, but from where is unknown. The two men remain silent as the hunter approaches, stopping feet from the other. They look at the modest headstone as the wait for the other to say something. It is the hunter who strikes up the conversation.

"It's hard to believe that it has been two months already," he says. Yes, it is hard to believe for him. It seems so much longer than that. All of that work leading up to the capture of his rabbit and he only got three days with him, and now it has been sixty days without him. Such a disappointment.

The man nods. "Yes," he says. He pauses, taking a moment to glance at the person who joined him. "Did you know him?" he asks.

"Not really," the hunter replies. "I know his parents, though. I've known them for quite some time now, since we were kids. I have to say I was rather shocked when I first heard that they had kids. I never thought of them to be the type, you know. They seemed far more interested in the party life style than a family one. I was not shocked when I found out when one of them died, though. My sister told me about it when I came back for a visit earlier this month. Such a tragedy."

"Do you think they would hurt their kids?"

The hunter shrugs. "I can't say," he says. "I haven't talked to them in years, and I only saw the boys for a brief moment back when they were tiny. I don't think I could say they were dangerous, bad parents but not dangerous. At least not intentionally, I believe. Why? Are people saying they were involved?"

"Just a theory," the man answers. "The kid disappeared while walking home at night. Some people believe that things went south if he got there. Even if he didn't make it home the parents should get child neglect charges or something. You have to be pretty damn stupid to let your kid walk around alone in Santa Carla; especially at night. It's just plain stupidity."

The hunter nods. He agrees with the man's statement completely. Some people should not be allowed to have children, especially those who will make little to no effort to care for them. This sickens the hunter. That is what parents are supposed to do; love and care for their children. This is why people, such as himself, need to intervene, to show these misguided fools how wrong they are. He must take their children, claiming them and loving them as his own, so that they may know the value of their mistakes. It can be such a tiresome task, but the hunter enjoys it. He has always been a fan of contributing to society. The parents finally have the chance to learn from their mistakes, he gets to enjoy his time with the rabbits and the children no longer have to suffer under the neglectful hands of idiotic parents. Everyone wins! "They should have some sort of test people have to take before they have kids," the hunter says.

The man smirks at this. "The only problem with that is you don't know who is a shitty parent until they have kids."

"True, but perhaps they could base it off of intelligence. That would knock out a good portion of this city."

The man nods in reply, allowing the conversation to die out into silence. The hunter turns his eyes from the stranger to the dirt below him. He is right above his rabbit, only six feet away. Oh, such a terrible thought. They are rather close in reality, but they have been separated for far too long now. Two months. Two horribly lonesome, depressing months without his beloved little rabbit. The bugs have probably gotten to him by now, the hunter thinks. Even the sturdiest of walls can keep the hungry out, and there is nothing wrong with that. It is something everyone must face. The hunter can see them in there, making sure they get all of the good bits first. He can picture them feasting on the boy's eyes, the same ones that had once looked at him with such fear. He imagined the critters nibbling away at his rabbit's pretty little face, slowly tearing away at the soft flesh in tiny bites. Soon there will be nothing left of the rabbit but bare bones lying in that coffin. Such a shame, the hunter thinks. All of that wasted on stupid bugs. Some things have all of the luck.

"May I ask how you know Alan?" the hunter says, turning his attention to the stranger. "Are you a relative of his?"

"Nope," the man replies. He glances at the hunter with little interest. "I never knew him before he died."

"Oh, so you are a follower of the case then."

"Yeah, something like that."

"Detective?"

The man smiles. "The cheap suit was the giveaway, right?"

"I just kind of had a feeling," the hunter says with a grin. Here he is again in the presence of another detective, and the man is completely oblivious of who he is. It's all too easy. The hunter watches him closely, trying to pick him apart. The detective no longer looks at him. His focus is on the headstone. He stares at it intently, lost in a storm of thoughts. He seems to be a little different from than the others the hunter has ran into. He can see it in the man's eyes. There is a minute sense of intelligence in his eyes, but it is not nearly enough to match the hunter. Still, the hunter takes note of this. He will have to be a little more careful around this man. He already slipped in front of a child. It would be best not to do it with someone that is supposedly trained to look for clues.

"You know," the detective says, "I have come out here a couple of times, usually on my lunch break or something to get away from all the people I work with. Really, I can't stand most of those people. They create such a noisy work environment. This is the only place I can actually hear my thoughts. I can't even get away from it at home. As soon as I get to my apartment it's just constant noise with the TV and stereo blaring. Oh, and my girlfriend of course. She thinks the perfect time to talk about all the boring shit she did that day and all of her co-workers she hates is right when I walk through the door. The woman never stops. It is just constant, never ending rants. I am almost considering getting her a muzzle this Christmas. But here I am able to think clearly. So I come out here, like today, and do some thinking. It's usually about the case, of course. Hell, it's the only thing I can think about most of the time. Everyone else may be just about ready to call it quits and move onto the next case, but I'm not. I'm not going to set aside for the murder investigation of an innocent child just so that can find the dumbass that stabbed a drug dealer. I guess you could consider it unethical or something weighing the importance of cases by what the victim is, but I would rather not waste my time on low life who was likely to be murdered when there is a child killer running around. But, you know, out all the times I have been out here I have not run into anyone. Not one single person. No parents. No friends. Nothing but a bare grave site. It's sad, really. I know this mother who had a daughter that died in a car accident, and she came out every day for years just talking to her and leaving little things. But this kid is always alone." He turns his head towards the hunter. "That is until you showed up."

The hunter holds his blank mask steady. "Well, I'm just stopping through," he answers. "I figured that is what was probably like, so I thought I'd stop by. It's sad. Not a good way to end a vacation, huh?"

"It is," the detective says. "Sad, I mean. It is very sad. Did you hear about how he died?"

"No. Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. It was pretty horrific."

"I would imagine so. I hope you find the bastard that did it."

"Thanks, but I am going to need a hell of a lot more than hope. Oh, hey," the detective says. "I never did catch your name."

"Brad," the hunter replies with a smile. "Brad Archer."

"Well, Brad Archer," the detective says, extending his hand out towards the hunter. The hunter gladly accepts. "Thanks for taking time to visit. I'm sure Alan appreciates it. I'm Collin, by the way."

"No problem," the hunter says, grinning as he shakes the man's hand. The idiot is oblivious, he thinks. Shaking hands with a killer, and he doesn't even know it. "Good luck with the case. Hopefully I will be hearing good news when I come for my next visit. I better get going, though. I have a ways to go still. It was nice meeting you."

"Yup. I have a safe trip home, Mr. Archer."

The hunter waves as he returns to his old beat up car. His spirits have been lifted by the meeting. Good Lord these people are easy to get past. Such simpletons! Such fools! It is no wonder that he is getting so bored in a city filled with morons.

Collin watches as the man drives away from the cemetery. "Brad Archer," he says out loud. "I'll have to look him up. Hear that, kid? We may have something now."

* * *

After another unsuccessful day of investigating, Edgar decides that it is time to head home and take a break. It would not be much of a break considering how much homework he had to catch up on this weekend. This is what his life is now; playing detective and doing homework between sulking episodes. Oh if only Alan could see this. Edgar could see it now, his brother shaking his head in disapproval, maybe even laughing at the fact Edgar is actually doing homework. They had rarely done homework back when Alan was here. There was no time for it since they worked in the comic shop right after school until late at night. By the time the brothers got home their brains were too tired out from having to deal with all the annoying costumes to bother working on homework. If they actually did it, it would be moments before school or in class.

As Edgar approaches his house, he notices that his parents' car is parked in the driveway. What the hell is Dad doing here? Edgar wonders. Two months ago this would not have surprised him, but lately all his father has been practically living in the family's store. It was rare that he was ever home, and it never happened during the day time. Probably getting high, Edgar guesses. That didn't last long.

He could hear the yelling before the door was opened. Two voices, one a scratchy male's and the other a shrill, over the top female voice, arguing back and forth with the woman taking over most of the conversation. Edgar recognized the dominant voice right away. It belongs to his aunt Katherine, back for another visit. "Great," Edgar grumbles to himself as he pushes on the door. "Just fucking great."

"This is all your fault!"

Welcome home.

Edgar enters the house, walking hoping to make it to the kitchen without being noticed. He stops as he reaches the living room, and watches the ongoing fight from the doorway. Hus aunt stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips and face flushed with a deep anger. Father Frog sits across from her in an old, beaten up arm chair, staring at his sister-in-law. Edgar recognizes his expression. It is the same nonchalant one Alan would use when he and his brother fought. It could almost be considered blank if it were not for the eyes that brim with fury. Edgar always hated it when Alan wore this expression, and he hates it more on his father. For once his father's eyes are not hidden behind glasses or fogged by drugs. They are sharp with anger, ready to pierce anyone who dares to cross him. This is the most focused Edgar can remember seeing him. Edgar spots his mother sitting on the floor, nearly lost in the fight. She leans against the couch, her skirt bunched up as she fingers the material. A dreamy smile dresses her lips. She is completely unaware of the battle that is taking place in her living room. Edgar notices that her skit has been partially tucked into her undergarments. The woman look so ridiculous that is enough to make him scream. Why can't he have a normal mom? Why can't he have a mom like Sam's; one that can actually dress herself and combs her hair, one that would notice if her son disappears for hours looking for a murderer. One that everything his mother is not. But this is what Edgar has been giving. This mess of a woman is his mother, and nothing will ever change that.

"My sister had a perfectly good life before you came around!" Aunt Katherine screeches. "She had everything going for her, and then you showed up and took everything from her and turned into a zombie! The only good thing that you ever did for her was giving her those boys, but of course you had to go and fuck that up too!"

Oh, Aunt Katherine swearing. This cannot be good, Edgar says to himself. He remains in the doorway although he is not sure if he wants to hear this.

"I didn't do anything," his father replies. His dad is actually speaking? And in coherent words? Where is a camera when you need one!

"Exactly! You never do anything! That is why we are all here now! Where were you when Alan was taken?" Mr. Frog cringes as his son's name is spoken. The word burns away at his ears like acid. "Getting high no doubt," Katherine continues. "And what were you doing when he was being raped? Getting high! Again! Some freak was having sex with your baby, my nephew, and you were sitting at home, safe with your bong! You were supposed to be his father. You are supposed to protect him from those sorts of people. Where were you when Alan needed you?"

"I didn't know," he mumbles.

"Didn't know?" A strangle laugh escapes her. That's it, she has lost it, Edgar thinks. He is now the sanest person in the family. "What did you think was going to happen when you let your kids walk around alone in this god forsaken shit hole? Nothing? Are you that delusional to think nothing would happen to them? You are supposed to be responsible! You are supposed to take care of your children! And it is entirely your god damn fault! I should have listened to our mother. I should have taken those boys the moment they were born before you could screw them up. And look at your family now! You got one son in the ground, and the other running around, taking care of the family! That is your job, not a fifteen year old boy's. And my sister! My poor sister is so messed up that she does not even realize what is going on!"

As she says this, Mrs. Frog's eyes flicker up towards Edgar. Her smile widens at the sight of her son. "Hello, Edgar," she says in a sleepy voice. "How was school today?"

"It's Sunday, Mom," Edgar answers. "There isn't any school."

"Oh. That's nice."

Aunt Katherine snaps her heads in Edgar's direction, finally noticing her nephew's presence. "Eddie, darling," she says in her normal voice. "Why don't you go upstairs while we adults finish talking? Ok?"

"Yeah, ok," Edgar mumbles to himself as he walks away. "If you want to call that talking."

Edgar does not go upstairs like he is asked. He goes to the kitchen, straight to the phone. If they were going to keep talking like this, then he was going to get the hell out of the house. Edgar dials the Emerson phone number, hoping someone would be there to answer. By the second ring he was starting to feel desperate. He could still hear his aunt continue to yelling accusations at his father. Someone better pick up before he loses it, Edgar prays. On the fifth ring someone answers.

"Hello?"

Sam. Thank God.

"Uh hey," Edgar says. He cups a rand around the mouth piece, hoping to keep out the screams. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Why? Do you want to do something?"

"Do you care if I come over?"

"Oh, so you're just inviting yourself over now."

"No! I just." He pauses to think of what would be the most appropriate way to say his family is crazy. All of the screaming in the background should be enough of an explanation. "My aunt is over, and she's kind of going at it with my dad and-."

"Edgar, chill. I was only kidding," Sam says. "Do you want us to pick you up or are you taking your bike?"

"I don't know," Edgar says, glancing in the direction of the living room. "I don't really care."

The conversation turns silent for a moment. "We'll come get you," Sam says. "I'll see you in a few, alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks for this."

"It's no problem, bud! I'm dying of boredom here anyways. Uh, wait. Not dying," Sam stutters. "I meant- I just. Sorry."

"It's fine."

"Be ready in fifteen. See you in a few," Sam repeats.

"Yeah, bye." Edgar hangs up the phone with a sigh. He needs to pack. He will need his homework and clothes for tomorrow. That is if the Emerson's will let him stay the night. They should, they never minded before.

Before he goes upstairs, Edgar returns to the living room. "I'm going to Sam's," he tries to say over the yelling. No one seemed to notice. "I'll probably be back tomorrow."

"Have fun, sweetie," his mom replies with a wave.

"Yeah, bye," Edgar says.

Edgar decides to wait for Sam outside. It will be quieter there, giving himself more of an opportunity to recover from his growing headache. He rests his throbbing head in his hands, digging his eyes into the heel of the palms. God it hurts. This is the problem with using your brain instead of going by gut instincts; it slowly destroys the body. Alan used to get headaches like these. He would get terrible ones that left him whining and moving about throughout the night, keeping both Alan and Edgar awake and suffering. Edgar would growl at his brother to stop, and when Alan didn't Edgar usually sent a pillow or comic book his way. This would never work as it only made his brother crankier, but the small display of physical violence helped ease Edgar's frustration. Those days seem so long ago now. Who would have guessed that he would ever be missing Alan's headaches?

His thoughts are disrupted by the blaring sound of a car horn. "Fucking hell," Edgar grumbles, pulling at his hair in frustration. Slowly, he looks up to see who was sorry sap that was foolish enough to- Oh, it is only Sam, no surprise there. He can see Lucy scolding her son, shooing his hands away as he makes another attempt to set off the horn. Edgar grabs his bag and slings it over his back before he heads towards the Emerson's car.

"Hey!" Sam greets him as Edgar hops into the back seat. Edgar mumbles something incoherent in reply, still too busy fighting his headache to think of a proper greeting. "You're lucky we haven't eaten yet. Mom was just about to start cooking dinner when you called."

"Have you already ate, Edgar?" Lucy asks as she backs out of the Frog's driveway.

"No," Edgar answers quietly.

"Good! Star and Laddie are already over. We'll have a full house tonight."

Sam turns around in his seat so that he is facing Edgar. "Are you staying over tonight?" He turns around back around and looks at his mother. "Can he?" he asks.

"I don't have a problem with it," Lucy says. "It's up to Edgar."

"Uh, yeah. I guess."

"Do you have everything you need?"

Edgar nods. "Yeah."

Dinner was an awkward event. Sam and Lucy took hold of most of the conversation with Star putting in a couple of comments every now and then. Neither Edgar nor Michael said a word. They sat across the table from each other, and on a couple of occasions Edgar caught the eldest Emerson brother staring at him. This bothers him. Michael had never paid attention to him before, why must he start the creepy staring now? Edgar knew what he was thinking about; Alan. It is always about Alan when people would stare at him like that. You cannot look at one brother without seeing the other. When Michael did this, Edgar would sometimes glare back and usually it would work. A strange expression would pass over Michael's face and he would then turn his attention to some other thing.

Edgar was given an extra cot to sleep on in Sam's room. By the end of the day his headache and worn off, and all he wanted to do was pass out and sleep for hours. Sam, however, was not quite as tired as Edgar. He is still wide awake and ready to talk.

"So what did you do this weekend?" Sam asked as he got under the covers. "I didn't see you at all. Well, besides today obviously, but-."

"Nothing," Edgar answers in a tired voice. He lies face down on the cot; burying his face in pillow he was given. Good Lord if Sam does not shut his mouth soon Edgar is going to have to do it for him.

"Are you still doing your investigating thing?"

Investigating thing? Edgar takes in a deep breath. It's a little more important than a thing.

"Edgar?" Sam says. He sits up in bed, waiting patiently for a reply. When he gets none, Sam tries again. "Edgar? Are you sleeping? You can't be sleeping already. It's not even late. Edgar."

"I am."

"Fine," Sam says, sliding down. "I won't tell you then. And it was important."

This catches Edgar's interest. "Tell me what?"

"No! I don't want to wake you up. Keep on sleeping, bud."

"Sam, if you don't tell me now I'm going to have to punch you in the throat," Edgar threatens.

"Well, fine," Sam says, sitting up again. "There's no need for violence. You were the one who didn't want to hear it." He turns on the lamp on the bedside table. Edgar swears as the light hits his eyes.

"You don't have to turn on the lights to talk," he growls.

Sam ignores this. "I think I saw something yesterday, something about Alan."

"What are you talking about?" Sam could not have found something related to Alan's murder, not before Edgar. That is not possible.

"Remember that magician guy from the summer? That super weird one we saw before we went out to eat?"

"Yeah."

"So my family went to that same place yesterday, and I saw him there in the same place and everything. Michael and I went over to him because we were bored waiting for my mom.  
"That's fascinating, Sammy," Edgar interrupts. "I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight."

"I'm not done yet," Sam says. "Anyways, like I said Mike and I went over there, and when he was talking to us. You know, he was asking about you guys, like he actually remembered us. It was kind of creepy. But that's not what was weird. When he was talking to Mike I noticed that he was wearing dog tags. Alan's dog tags."

Edgar pauses. "Alan's dog tags?" he repeats. The missing dog tags, Edgar knew someone had to have taken them. They could not have just disappeared into thin air.

"Yup," Sam says, nodding. "I'm sure they were his. I know it."

"How?"

"I just do."

"But." Edgar pauses to think of what question he wants to ask. How the man obtained them is obvious; he would have had to kill Alan to get them. "Why would that guy want to kill Alan?"

"I don't know," Sam says. "Why would anyone want to? But remember how he was kind of holding Alan's hands for awhile during that magic trick? And he was looking at him kind of weird, too. Maybe he decided then that he wanted to do it, and followed him around for the rest of the week and took him when Alan was alone."

Edgar considers Sam's theory. It is plausible. If the magician worked down there often he could have easily kept an eye on Alan. All he had to do was wait for the perfect moment, when Alan was alone, and nabbed him. But Alan could have taken that guy easily. He wasn't that big, at least that is how Edgar remembers him. But he does have Alan's dog tags, if Sam is right, and the only way the magician could have gotten those was from taking them off of his brother. Plus, the guy did magic. Anyone who used things related to the supernatural for a hobby is suspicious.

"We don't know who he is," Edgar says mostly to himself.

"We can find out," Sam says. Excitement grows in his voice. Edgar believes it. Someone is listening to him. Maybe they can actually find something.

"Right," Edgar says. "We can start tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? We have school tomorrow."

"So?"

"We probably shouldn't skip school."

"Why? Is getting an education more important than finding out who killed Alan?"

"No!" Sam says quickly. "Of course it isn't!"

"Ok, we'll skip tomorrow then."

Sam is unsure of this. "I don't know," he says. "If we get caught, we'll be grounded. Well, I will at least. My mom will probably get upset if I'm out looking for a murderer when I'm supposed to be learning. And Michael too, he'll lock me in the house if he knew about it."

"Screw Michael," Edgar mumbles into the pillow.

"But I will probably not be able to leave," Sam says. "Then I won't be able to help you, and since I was the one who found the dog tags I think I-."

"Fine, after school then," Edgar says. "But you better not tell anyone."

"I won't," Sam says. He feels his eyes becoming drowsy. All of this talking is making him tired. Sam reaches over and turns the lamp off, now ready to go to sleep. Edgar sighs to himself as he wraps the blankets closer around his body. Finally he can get some peace and quiet. Unfortunately for him, the peace does not last ten minutes before Sam starts talking again, keeping Edgar from falling asleep.

"Edgar?" Sam asks through the darkness. Edgar replies with a grumble, his annoyance clearly laced through the wordless sound. "Do you miss him?"

Edgar bites the inside of his cheek. Perhaps because he felt secure enough beneath the warm blankets or being surrounded in the darkness so that he is hidden from Sam, Edgar feels comfortable enough to answer this. "Every day."

"Yeah. Me too," Sam says quietly. "Good-night, bud."

"Night."

* * *

**I thought with nearly two weeks of no school would give me more time to write. I was wrong. Apparently the more free time I have, the less willing I am to write. Sadly, this is the best I could do for this week. At least it's longer! Does that count for anything? Anywho, thanks again to all of you who read and review my story! I hope everyone had a good Christmas! And happy New Year! I'm so excited for it. I am most defiantly going to stuff my face. There is no better way to end a year than gluttony. **


	12. Chapter Twelve

The Hunter

Chapter Twelve

Michael has never been comfortable around Edgar Frog. There was just something about the boy that he found slightly unnerving. Perhaps it was his quick temper or that look on his face, the way he watches everyone with suspicion. Such a weird kid, so odd and unnaturally serious for someone his age. Both Frog brothers were strange to Michael, but he could handle Alan better. Alan was quiet and more thoughtful. He would not jump the first person he suspects to be a vampire, unlike his brother. There had been a few occasions after they had rid of Max and his family that Michael had found Edgar lurking around, eyeing him suspiciously as he pulled Alan along. Such a strange little kid. And angry too! It has only gotten worse now, not that anyone could blame the poor boy. Michael can see it now as the boy sits across the table, grinding his teeth, brooding, always brooding about something as he picks away at his breakfast. It is written all over the young, sullen face. The fury seeps from his eyes and trickles down his face in the invisible tears of grief, wetting his heart that so furiously pumps his blood, his brother's blood, aching for revenge. He will surely crack if something will not be done soon.

Michael can see it, and he had helped put that hate in the boy's heart. No intentionally, of course, but still he did. Michael had, unknowingly, handed Alan over to a murder, allowing some sex crazed pervert to lay his filthy hands on the unfortunate child, killing him; Sam's friend and Edgar's brother. Michael did this. Such regret! So much guilt! That is how he feels as he stares at the surviving Frog brother now, watching the rage slowly take over. He feels guilty.

Edgar looks up from his bowl of oatmeal, glaring at Michael through his bangs. A nasty scowl gouges his lips. "What?"

Michael is a little taken back by this. Edgar had a habit of speaking in a low, grave voice when he wanted to be taken seriously, and two months ago Michael would have smiled at this but he knows this time there is no room for laughter. "What?" he echoes back.

"You keep staring at me," Edgar says. "You were doing it all of yesterday too. Why?"

Michael turns his eyes away. Had he been staring that much? "Nothing," he replies quietly.

"Then stop."

And Michael does. He stares at his own breakfast, at the walls. He looks anywhere besides at Edgar. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Edgar says nothing as he continues to push the contents of his bowl around. He should probably eat it; it would be the polite thing to do and will most likely be the only warm meal he will have for awhile if Aunt Katherine left. But Edgar is not hungry. He is too busy. Today is a big day; so much planning to do and so little time, defiantly not enough to be hungry.

"I really am sorry," Michael says more clearly.

"It's fine. Just don't-."

"No, not that," Michael interrupts. "Well, that and everything else. I mean Alan." Edgar stares blankly at him, not understanding what is trying to be said. Michael sighs. Why must he make this more difficult? "About Alan, what happened to him."

"Why?"

Why? Isn't it obvious why? "For letting him go."

"Did you kill him?"

"No!" Michael exclaims. "No! I would never hurt him. God no."

"Then why are you apologizing?"

Michael closes his eyes for a moment. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should stop now, and just let the guilt eat him instead. "But I let him go off by himself."

"So?"

So? What kind of answer is that? So? "If I didn't," Michael says, "He would have gotten home safely."

"But you didn't kill him," Edgar repeats.

"Yeah, but I also didn't-."

"Look," Edgar says. "I don't care what you did or did not do as long as you aren't the one who hurt Alan. A lot of people didn't do anything. But someone did; he killed my brother and that is the only person I want to deal with."

"But I'm still-."

"I know. It's ok."

Is it? Is it ok, Michael wonders. He may not have been the one who technically killed Alan, but still he did nothing to prevent. Alan was murdered; raped, mutilated, strangled and God knows what else, and Michel did not help him. It's not ok. It will never be ok.

* * *

The day after the run in with Mr. Brad Archer at the cemetery Collin began his investigation. He would have done it sooner if it were not being stuck with another damned case, domestic violence gone worse. They had arrived at the scene with a battered woman standing over the bloodied corpse of her former lover. "I told him I would do it!" she had cried as the police stood before her. "I told him so." It was an easy case, and Collin had left Alex to tie up the loose strings while he got busy finding that Brad Archer.

The man had said he has known the Frog parents since they were kids, so Collin thought it would be a good idea to check out the high school for something. One rather unhappy secretary did not take too kindly to requests. She would not allow him any student records; he would have to talk to the principle of about that. But she was nice enough to allow Collin to borrow a couple of year books. No one would care, she said. He took them, of course. Yearbooks! Such a great idea! He can look at the faces and try to match them up just in case Brad Archer turns out to not be Brad Archer.

This is what the detective has been doing for the past couple of hours, thumbing through aged year books and closely examining all of the smiling school portraits. Looking through a yearbook may be an enjoyable experience for some, but not so much when it does not feature you or anyone you know. It is even less enjoyable when you are looking for the face of a possible child rapist.

"Hey."

Collin looks up from the open book to see his partner, Alex, that blond, silly girl who has the uncanny ability to aggravate him without trying. Here she is now, standing before him with a plastic bag in hand.

"I brought you back some lunch," she says with a weak smile as she lifts the bag.

Collin returns to his work. "Thanks."

Alex walks over and sets the back on Collin's desk, trading it for a yearbook. "Still looking through these?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you find anything?" she asks as she pulls a chair up to the desk.

"Nope," Collin says. "I have looked through all of these and there is not one Brad Archer."

"So he lied?"

"Possibly. At least he lied about his name. He may have known the parents and gave me a fake name."

"And why would he do that?"

"Who knows? Maybe he doesn't want to get into this, or maybe he's trying to hide something. But now I am going through all of these and looking at every fucking picture, trying to find this guy."

"Sounds like fun," Alex says as she opens one of the books. "Where are his parents? Oh, never mind. There's the dad. Gosh, he looks just about the same. Well, minus the beard."

"Yup, even then he was a pot head."

Alex rolls her eyes. "It's kind of weird to think his parents are the same age as he should be. It doesn't seem right," she says sadly. "At least he didn't have to suffer through high school. Those are the worst years."

"I enjoyed them."

"Liar. No one likes high school."

"Maybe not when you are an angst filled brat that does nothing but mope all day," Collin says. "I bet you were one of those, weren't you?"

"Um, no," Alex replies. "I did a lot of other things besides moping. I cheered and moped."

"You were a cheerleader?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Collin scowls at her. "And you called me the liar," he says shaking his head.

"I was too!"

"Liar. To be a cheerleader you need to have pep, and you certainly do not have pep."

Alex rolls her eyes. "Whatever. And what were you?"

"The cool guy. And still am."

"Doubt it," Alex says in a sing song voice as she flips to the next page.

"You were the bitchy cheerleader, right? The one that made everyone cry? Because I could defiantly see that."

Alex smiles as she scans over the page. "What about this guy?" she says, pointing at one of the tiny faces. "He looks like a potential creeper."

"You're theory is ridiculous," Collin says, shaking his head. "You can't tell if someone is a murderer or not by just looking at them." He leans over to get a look at the picture. "Nope, not him. This guy had light hair, like a brownish blond."

"He could have dyed it."

"But the face and everything is different," Collin says. "Nice try though."

The two sit quietly as they continue to scan the pages. "Do you think this is going to get you anywhere?" Alex asks.

"It could."

"It kind of seems like a waste of time. You probably aren't going to find that guy in any of these. And you don't even know if he was the killer, it is possible that he is just another one of those obsessive crime buffs that gets off on the case."

"Well, we won't know that until we investigate and rule him out," Collin says. "Right? That is what detectives are supposed to do, we investigate things. It's our job."

"Which you aren't doing."

"I am doing it right now."

"Not that," Alex says with a sigh. "Are you aware in the past month that you have been making me do pretty much all of the work on our other cases while you work on this one?"

"Yes, I am aware. You are doing a spectacular job, by the way."

"You know it's not fair. I can't keep doing your work forever."

"It's not for forever," Collin says. "Just until I crack this, and I am finally making some progress here. You can't stop me now. I won't until I find this guy, it's my job."

"But you have other jobs, too. I'm not going to spend God knows how long picking up your slack and covering for you while you try to solve this. It's been two months, take a break."

"Didn't I just tell you I have a new lead?"

"It's not much a lead, Collin," she says. "You ran into a guy that might have given you a false name. That is not a lot to go off of."

"But it's still something," he says as he flips to the next page. "I could tell when I saw him that-."

"Weren't you just the one who told me it is not possible to tell if someone is a murderer based on appearance?"

"I said you couldn't. I can because I'm smart."

Alex scowls. Oh how she dislikes her partner, can't stand that smug face of his and his arrogant attitude. She could slap that stupid little smirk off his face right now. She could. "Whatever," Alex says, setting the yearbook down. Collin pays little attention as his partner gets up from her seat and angrily walks away. That is Alex, always so melodramatic. There is nothing to worry about here.

* * *

It did not surprise Daniel Fierke when that strange Frog kid showed up again, this time at work and he brought along a friend. This happens to him often. Whenever there is any sort of sex crime committed against a child people come charging at him. Someone flashed a little girl? Fierke! It has to be Fierke! Damn fucking pervert! Queue the mob, round up the testosterone raging policemen and let's get that freak! They would come at all times, preferably the night so that he could pull him out of bed and drag him into the streets, parading the unfortunate pedophile to bystanders, exposing bare potbellied stomach to the chilly night air. Sicko pervert! Baby raper! Tell us what you have done! But he never does anything, not since those two boys so many years ago. He had showered them with gifts and affection, all anyone could ever ask for, and they panicked and told just as society had brainwashed them to do.

"That's him! That's the bad man that touched me!" they had cried.

And he has been that guy ever since.

Poor Daniel Fierke! Poor, sad little man; he cannot get away from anything, not even when he is at working trying to make a living for himself. He has been good, he really has! He has not touched anyone, not even when the desires begin creeping up on him. It is so hard though, so terribly hard, especially when he has them coming right up to him like this.

Daniel smiles at the two boys knowing that they did not come here to eat. He can tell by the look on the Frog's face. Edgar, angry, demanding Edgar looking for answers. But Daniel had already told him everything! And he will get nothing in return for his efforts. There will be no chance of seducing Edgar. He would never be impressed by gifts. Nope! There is no hope for him.

And then there is the friend. Oh, he is cute! Just adorable! Daniel has seen him around before, with the Frog brothers and occasionally stopping by the diner with his family. So sweet and smiley, and probably naive enough fall for him. But Daniel must resist. He must not attempt anything. Even if the boy complies, it will not end well. He has seen the boy's older, tall, muscular guy that could probably kill Daniel with one blow if he found out that the disturbed, perverted man was "hurting" his beautiful little brother. His mind will be too narrow to comprehend the love a man and a child can share. No, he must not risk it; just look, never touch. Never ever touch.

"Can I help you boys?"

Edgar scowls. "We need to talk."

"Well, I have a break in ten minutes. We can talk then if you want to come back later."

"We can wait."

Fierke nods. "Can I get you anything then? A soda or something?"

Edgar and Sam exchange looks. "I don't have any money," Sam says to his friend.

"Don't worry about it!" Daniel exclaims. "It's on the house." This makes Sam smile. Oh, he is so easy! Fight the urges, Daniel, hold your heart steady!

Edgar glares at the man as he drags Sam off to a table. "Don't smile at him," he says.

"Why?" Sam asks. "I was being polite."

"Don't you know what that is?" Sam shakes his head no. "He was a suspect in Alan's murder. He's a pedophile, and he was just checking you out."

Sam's face contorts in disgust. "No way."

"Yeah, he was."

Sam glances over at Daniel, who is busy preparing the beverages. He shudders. "Do we have to talk to him? I'm really creeped out now."

"Of course we have to," Edgar says. "That magician guy is always right across the street from here. He probably came in a couple of times, and that freak may know him. Maybe they talked about stuff."

"Stuff?"

"I don't know. Pedophile stuff."

Sam grimaces. "That is sick. Do you think they talked about Alan?"

"I don't know, but I'll kill them both if they did."

"Do you think they talked about us?"

"Sam, if you don't stop it now-."

"Ok, ok," Sam says. "I was just wondering. So what are we going to ask him, or have you not planned that far yet?"

"Of course I have," Edgar says with a scowl.

"What then?"

Daniel heads over to the table with two drinks in hand. "Here you go!" he says, grinning as he sets one down in front of Edgar. Sam looks up at him with a nervous smile, inching further away from the man as he leans closer towards Sam. Daniel fights back a frown as he turns towards Edgar. Damn that Frog kid! He must have blabbed Daniel's secret. "Is there anything else I can get you?" he asks.

"No," Sam answers quickly. "I'm good."

Daniel looks to Edgar, who continues to scowl at the waiter, his hostility shadowing his features. He needs to stop doing that, all that scowling and angry looks, Daniel tells himself. It ruins his face. "I guess I will take that as a no," he says. "Let me know if you need anything."

Daniel takes an extra five minutes before starting his break, hoping the wait will be long enough to make the boys bored and leave. Of course, he was wrong; they were still sitting at the same table, waiting for him after he exited the bathroom. Poor Daniel, he never has been the lucky one. Slowly, he heads towards the table, dreading yet another interrogation. "So what did you want to talk about?" he asks as he slides into the seat next to Sam. Oh God, he can smell the boy. So intoxicating, so… No, no! Must not think about it!

"We wanted to ask you about someone," Edgar says. Sam nods along, his discomfort obvious in his face. "There this magician guy. He has some stupid show outside sometimes, across the street."

Daniel pauses, trying to think of the man. He has seen so many faces, so many side shows during the summer. It is so difficult to remember them all. But yes, that magician does sound familiar. "Blonde hair, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, that guy. Do you know him?"

"I talked to him a couple of times," Daniel says. Edgar and Sam glance at each other. Things are looking promising. "He came in here a couple of times before."

"What did you talk about?"

"Not much, just random conversations."

"About what?"  
"Nothing you are thinking about," Daniel says, a small grin present on his lips. "We talked about the usual things; weather, work, nothing too fun."

"Did he ever mention his name?"

"I believe he said it was Brian or Brad or something. It started with a B, though. I can't recall a last name."

"How much have you seen him around here?"

"He comes around randomly. He told me before that it's more of a hobby than anything, and only came out when he had nothing better to do. He did some decent some tricks, showed me some when it got really slow around here."

Edgar remembers the ball trick. It was juvenile, in his opinion. Juvenile and pointless.

"He usually shows up on the weekends," Daniel says. "Are you looking for him?"

"It's none of your business."

"Well, if you are questioning me about him, I think I should know why. You don't suspect he did anything to your brother, do you? You boys should probably not be getting into this, it's dangerous."

"Don't you ever talk about my brother again," Edgar growls. "And I don't think you are the right person to be telling us to stay away from dangerous people."

"I am not-."

"Also," Edgar cuts in. "I already told you it's none of your business, and you better not mention any of this to that loser magician. If I find out you did, I will be standing outside this place every day, telling every single customer about the sick freak you are. I'm sure your boss will not appreciate that. Am I right?"

Daniel scowls at the boy. Such a cocky, evil little brat trying to boss him around. Daniel could wipe that arrogant look off his face. He could make him cry if he wanted to. But Daniel won't, he is better than that. "My lips are sealed."

"Good," Edgar says as he gets up from his seat. "Let's go, Sam."

Daniel steps aside so that Sam is able to slide out. "Thanks for the sodas," he says without looking at the man.

"No problem," Daniel replies with a smile. He continues to hold his grin as he watches the boys flee the diner. Annoying kids; they can never leave him alone.

* * *

**Oh wow, it is way past my bedtime for a school night! I wanted to finish this, though, before I ran out of free time. I suppose I will just have to let my education suffer, and for this. It is probably not worth it, but oh well. Thank you again to all of my beautiful readers and reviewers! **


	13. Chapter Thirteen

The Hunter

Chapter Thirteen

The hunter disappeared. He left for a little over a month, retreating to the Midwestern house his mother had purchased after his father's sudden disappearance in order to hide form memories amongst other things. He is safe there, in the quiet little area that no one knows his true colours or questioned what they are. No one has heard of Alan Frog or care to hear what had happened to him. There are no blue eyes following him, accusing him of murder, and no obsessive and vengeful brother trying to track him down. The hunter is safe now in the cozy house that belongs to his mother.

_I want to go home._

He can still hear this. He hates it, despises the whining, tearful voice of his rabbit begging to be taken home. The rabbit did not have a home, the hunter knew, at least no one like the one he can return to. His is warm and filled with loving people while the boy had only a cold, empty home waiting for him. It would be a sin to let a child, especially one as pretty and as precious as his rabbit, to go back to a place like that; just awful of him! A child needs someone that will care for them, an adult that would kill to protect his or her children just as the hunter's mother would and had done. The rabbit did not have that. He had no one to love him, and when the hunter tried to step in to fill those empty shoes the boy had rejected him.

There was that brother, though; the grim faced, shrewd eyed brother that was always with the rabbit. If the hunter had to be wary of anyone, it would be him. He could see that the boy had the right set of eyes for being a hunter. It was obvious in the way he looked at people, carefully studying them to find their strengths and weaknesses. If the friend told the brother about the dog tags, which was likely to happen at some point, the hunter may be in some serious trouble. But of course there was little either of the boys could do. Natural talent or not, the brother would be too much of an amateur hunter and would be no match for him. They had no clues, no evidence.

The hunter does feel a tad bit guilty for separating the rabbit from the brother. He has not and will not admit to anyone, even Kim whom he confides in the most. She would become very upset if she knew someone had cared about the rabbit, someone who truly loved him and possibly deserved to have him back. She did not care about the other children, the ones who had no one to care for them; no one looking means not getting caught. She may become upset, though, if she finds someone undeserving is suffering from her brother's needs. But for all she knew the rabbit was only another nameless, unloved child that no one cared if he was raped or killed.

This is all Alan's fault, that stupid rabbit. He knew what he was doing from the start, and if he had not been playing tricks on the hunter then maybe he could have left the boy alone. The rabbit did not do this; he kept playing with the hunter. It was as if the boy was begging for his attention! He was always flirting with the hunter, making his shirt go up just a little to reveal a bit of skin as he reached for comics high up on the shelves, knowing full well that the hunter was watching. There was that suggestive look he would send the man during those moments of brief eye contact, the tiny quirk of a smile to let the hunter know he was aware of their secret bond. All of this was done by the rabbit, all his fault for doing those things to the hunter. Fourteen or not, the hunter knew that Alan was aware of what he was doing, though it was possible that the boy had not expected the severity of the consequences, he had still wanted it. It was still his fault. The rabbit should have known not to mess with a hunter.

In his mother's home the hunter is perfectly comfortable. He decided that he would be staying there throughout the Thanksgiving holiday, leaving his sister behind in Santa Carla. Their mother had requested that she did not attend the family gathering for his sister was much too crazy to interact with others, and would certainly cause another one of her scenes. Kim was fine with this. She had Buttons, and Buttons was all she needed; not those disgusting, trashy hicks that are supposedly her family members.

A small portion of the family returned, only a couple of cousin's and their families that were still dedicated to their aging aunt. They all decided to stay in the old woman's house, a sprawling Victorian that likely would be on the brink of dilapidation if not for the lovely caretaker the hunter had hired to watch over her while he was busy taking care of his sister. The hunter greeted his family warmly, vaguely remembering them as he had not seen them in a couple of years. They smiled, shook his hand and hugged him not realizing that they were embracing a child killer. They all had children now, one being around the same age as his rabbit, possibly a little older by a year or two but defiantly not as attractive as his rabbit. The teen was gangly, awkward boy, even more awkward than the rabbit, but he did have nice hair, the hunter noticed. It was long and dark and drew in the hunter as it reminded him of his beloved rabbit. Oh how he misses that boy! If only he could be here now with the hunter and his family, in the hunter's room together on his bed, the rabbit squirming as he is pinned face down amongst the soft bedding while the hunter has his way with him. There should have been more memories like that.

The hunter had left Santa Carl to leave everything involving the rabbit. He needed a break, some peace of mind for a moment or two. But even with all the miles that separates them the hunter could not escape his rabbit. He thought of him constantly, mostly at night when he was alone in his room, free to think without any interruptions. During these moments the hunter would remove one of the pictures he had cut out from the missing person's flyer and look at his rabbit. He studied the face closely, remembering how soft it felt underneath his finger tips, how beautiful it was especially when it was soaked with the boy's own blood and tears. It could have been art work had the hunter been in the right mind and taken a picture. Now all he had were the memories, and they were enough to please him. He could look at the picture and remember quivering body and sobbing voice, and this would be enough to allow the hunter to satisfy himself. The hunter had to be careful about this, though. How awkward would it be if someone were to walk in on him while he jerked off to his pretty little rabbit! No one would understand. No one could understand.

Self satisfaction did not last long. He needs something more, something that would provide more physical release. If only his rabbit was here to help with that! There is that one boy, though; Brian or Ryan or whatever the hell his name is. He could work as a decent substitute, if only he was a little bit better looking, but he is the closest thing the hunter has to the rabbit; just about the right size and age. He would have to do. The hunter begins to watch Brian/Ryan, waiting for him to be alone, which is never very often. The house is big, but not big enough to find one's self alone. Brian/Ryan was always with his cousins, playing around or causing some sort of noisy destruction. The hunter is just about ready to call it quits. It would be for the best considering how easy it would be to get caught, and if he did get caught with this one it would not be pretty. One of the most dangerous things in the world is a vengeful parent, something he did not have to deal with before and plans on never doing so. But the hunter cannot hold out much longer; there is no telling what may happen if he withheld his urges.

He does manage to find some luck. One night a majority of the house guests decided to go out and get some fresh air. They chose to go bowling, but Brian/Ryan decided that he would rather stay behind as he was suffering from a rather nasty head cold. A few of his cousins also chose to stay behind, but remained downstairs, unable to hear anything through the thick floors. Not that it would make much difference to the hunter; it is easy to keep kids quiet. All one needs is a persuasive voice and touch of brute force.

The hunter silently opens the door to where the boy was sleeping. Brian/Ryan lays face down on the bed, hugging tightly onto his pillow, perfectly asleep and unaware of the monster lurking in his room. If the hunter got lucky, which he often does, he could finish this without waking the boy; no struggling, no worry about getting caught. Carefully, the man shuts the door, taking his time so that it made as little noise as possible, and walks further into the room towards the bed. The hunter thinks back to his rabbit, how peacefully he had been sleeping on the night of capture before he realized what a mess he had gotten into, just like this boy now. Brian/Ryan remains still as the hunter climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over the sleeping body. He pauses in a moment of hesitation, waiting for any signs of life from the boy before pulling back the thick blankets. Brian/Ryan shudders as the sudden lack of warmth brings him back to consciousness. He is about to turn around and reach for the blankets when the hunter pushes down on him, slapping a large hand over the open mouth.

"Say anything and I'll break your neck. Believe me, I've done it before."

Brian/Ryan tenses up but complies with the orders, at least until the hunter starts to pull down on his pajama pants. "I believe it will be best you stop moving," the hunter says as he removes his jeans. "It will make things quicker that." Brian/Ryan does not take the man's advice. He continues to struggle until the hunter has to smack him across the backside of his head.

"I said to stop."

With that, he enters Brian/Ryan, working fast before anyone could walk in on them. Throughout the process, he thinks of his rabbit, the small warm body that he so dearly misses. Brian/Ryan remains still, occasionally whimpering as the man drove himself into him. The hunter finishes quickly, much faster than he would like in better circumstances and collapses next to the boy.

"I would recommend that you don't anyone," he says in a tired voice. "I would hate to have to kill you all. I would imagine that mother would not take it very well. So, don't say a word about this. Got it?"

"Ok," Brian/Ryan replies in a whisper.

The hunter reaches over and covers the boy with the blankets again. "Good boy," he says as he pulls on his jeans. The two lay in thick silences, taking in the ordeal that had just occurred.

"Who is Alan?" Brian/Ryan asks.

The hunter freezes. Where in the world did he get that from? "Why?"

Brian/Ryan looks up at him. "You kept saying his name."

Had he? The hunter cannot remember. He had been thinking about his rabbit, pretending Brian/Ryan was him. It was the only way he could get through the process and still have it be somewhat enjoyable. It was quite possible that he had said Alan's name.

"I don't know what you are talking about, kiddo," the hunter says as he rises from the up off the bed. "And remember, one word about this and you'll regret it."

* * *

Edgar had been invited to spend Thanksgiving with the Emerson's. He accepted, not wanting to end up staying at his aunt's house where he had also been invited. Thanksgiving with his biological family would be more awkward than with Sam's and defiantly much more unpleasant. With Alan gone Edgar would have no one to talk to. Well, besides Sarah. She is the only one of his cousins that bothers to take notice of him, which is not something he takes pride in. At least when Alan was there he had a teammate, someone to battle against their semi-insane cousin or at least to distract all of her attention away from him. Plus, the Christmas week will be long enough, there is no need to suffer through any more holidays with those people. So the Emerson's was the best decision.

It was not until Edgar was considering his options did he realize that this would be the first Thanksgiving without Alan, and that there are many more firsts to come this year. The Frog family had never been big on holidays. Edgar cannot remember an ordinary day let alone a holiday when they were all there both physically and mentally. The first Thanksgiving should not be that hard, but he still dreads it. Even if his parents were not there completely, Alan always had been. Now Alan is gone and he has no one.

Well, there is Sam and his family. They still invited him to family related events, out of pity or an act of good-will, and Edgar usually agreed to tag along. Anything that got him out of the house is good. Anything that got him away from his family is even better. But becoming the Emerson's foster child is starting to turn awkward if not pathetic. He had to be annoying them by now, Edgar knew. He knows that he isn't what one would consider the life of the party or even a joy to be around. He's a sulky, brooding child and angry at best. Edgar cannot help it, though. He wants to be normal again, like how he was the summer before when he could still be happy during some moments, but he cannot bring himself to do it. There is no need to have the Emerson family suffer along with him.

They were all so nice to him, though, Sam, the crazy old man and Lucy. Lucy was especially kind to him, always taking extra time with Edgar, showering him with motherly love she knew that he was lacking. Michael was alright too, less awkward than he had been before. It was still quite obvious that he is not a huge fan of the Edgar, but at least he got better with faking his dislike. But for the most part the Emerson's were lovely too him, and for that Edgar is truly grateful. If it were not for their sense of normalcy, he would not be able to make it through this first holiday.

There are moments where Edgar misses Alan terribly, moments like the ones when he would see Sam and Michael together. He and Alan were not as affectionate the Emerson brothers, and in those moments when he feels his heart breaking all over again Edgar wishes they had been. Of course they were too cool, too masculine for those types of things, but still Edgar wishes. Perhaps if he did then he would be able to remember Alan better; the exact shade of his hair or eyes, how his body felt in his arms. Edgar is starting to forget fast and it scares him. it was not things like memories or more general aspects of Alan, but the smaller parts were starting to drift away no matter how hard he tried to hold onto them. Edgar does not like this, not at all. He has already lost Alan, and does not want to lose anymore of him.

The worst of the moments came during the actual Thanksgiving dinner. It is a tradition of the Emerson's to go around the table and having each member say something they are thankful for. Most of the answers tend to be more generic, something about family and friends and good health. Edgar does not like this tradition. He squirms in his seat, growing nervous as it nears his turn. Did he have to go? Oh, please, God, don't let it be! He is a guest, they can't make him. That would be rude, though. But Edgar does not care about being rude! But they did invite him over, the least he could do was making something up. What was he thankful for? His family; two junkie parents, a neurotic aunt and a murdered brother? Those tears Edgar so despised began to fill his eyes again as it came to Sam's turn. Fucking hell, now he was going to cry in front of all of them. Why does he always have to be such a fucking cry-

"Edgar, sweetie, do you want to go?" Lucy asks.

Edgar says nothing as he looks down, scratching at the material of his jeans. They are all looking at him; Sam, Lucy, Michael, Star, Laddie and the old man. He can feel their eyes, waiting for him to speak. Oh, why can't they just stop looking at him! It's already awkward enough with him being there, he doesn't need to be a show wherever he goes.

"Edgar? You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

A tear slips from his eye and trickles down his cheek, landing on the hand that scratches at his jeans. He can't do this anymore. He can't stay here and cry, not when everyone is watching him. Edgar mumbles an apology and quickly gets up, heading for the living room. He flops down on the couch, grasping at his hair, trying to pull all of the grief out. How long will this take, he wonders.

Edgar hears the sound of chairs scraping across the floor and footsteps heading in his direction. Why can't they just leave him alone and do their own family thing?

"Edgar?" Lucy says. Edgar glances over to see Lucy walking towards him and Sam standing nearby, watching with an expression of slight confusion. She sits down next to him, wrapping Edgar in a hug. Edgar stiffens in the embrace. "I'm sorry," she says. "We didn't mean to upset you." Edgar says nothing. Instead he tries to shut his mind off so that he won't think about Alan or the fact he just cried in front of all of those people. "I know this is hard for you, but it's going to be ok. Alan is happy now."

"Is he?" Edgar asks unintentionally.

"Well, what do you think?"

What does he think? Edgar thinks no, his brother is not happy. He got fucked by some crazy guy and died when he was only fourteen. How could he be happy about that? Edgar does not say this, though. They will think he's crazy. "I don't know," he mumbles.

"He is," Lucy says. "I'm sure he is, and he would want you to be happy too."

Sam moves from the doorway over to the couch, sitting down next to Edgar. Edgar cringes as Sam also wraps his arms around him, embracing him tightly, smashing him between Lucy and Sam. Great, a group hug. Could this day get any more awkward for him? "It's going to be ok, bud," Sam says.

"No," Edgar replies quietly. "No it's not." It is not ok, why can't people understand that? They keep saying that everything is alright, that eventually it will work out just as they had first said when Alan went missing.

_It's ok. Don't worry, we'll find your brother. He'll be ok._

And look how that turned out. Liars, all of them! Delusional connivers, each and every one of them! They had been lying to Edgar then just as they are lying to him now. It is not ok, nor will it ever be unless Alan somehow rises from the dead, being a perfect replica to the Alan he was that night when Edgar had last seen him.

Lucy sighs unknowingly to herself as she rests her head on the boy's shaggy locks. She could try to offer a promise of a better day, that this darkness will fade and his heart will soon mend. Of course it would do no good for the boy by giving him more promises, ones that may not come true, even if it brings momentary peace it may bring to an aching heart, for there is never anything certain in life. Edgar would take little, if any, comfort in any cliché words, little annoying sayings to be used the presence of death. She had secretly not taken too kindly to the notes of sympathy when it was her mother that died, so surely Edgar would take offence. But sometimes there are just not any words that need to be said. There was nothing she can say and little that she can do aside for being there for the broken child. Maybe all he needs is time, time to heal, to destruct or whatever it is that he needs to regain life.

"Not that I want to be insensitive or anything, but I'm kind of hungry," Sam says, breaking the silence. "Can we go eat now?"

Edgar laughs at this; a short, blunt snub of a laugh, but still one none the less. He laughs at this situation, his life and the absurdity of it all. If he must be thankful for one thing on this first holiday it would have to be Sam. Sam is nothing like Alan and most certainly never will be close to being a replacement for his brother, but at least he can make Edgar smile, which is something he needs more often than he realizes in order to keep his sanity.

"Are you ready to go back, Edgar?" Lucy asks in her ever so soft, calming motherly voice. "You don't have to if you don't want to, of course."

Does he want to go back? Suddenly Edgar feels as hungry as Sam. Sure, why not? There's no need to spoil the rest of the holiday, especially the free food that comes with it. Edgar nods and the three being to peel away from the group hug. Edgar is not free from unwanted, sappy contact for long. As soon as he stands up, Sam slings an arm around the sulking shoulders, pulling Edgar in a little closer. "It really is going to be ok," Sam whispers as they enter the dining room, and in that moment Edgar almost believed it.

* * *

**I'm sorry this took quite awhile to update! January is kicking my butt, and I cannot wait for this and next month to be over with. Here's a tip for some of you: Just because you can go out for anything you want to, you don't have to do everything. Trust me, it's not all that fun after awhile. Hehe. I swear all I have been doing is practicing routines- I have a cheer competition next month that I have been working like crazy to be absolutely ready for and for some reason a couple friends and I thought it would be fun to do dance routine for the talent show later this month. It's not really all that fun. Hehe- and, of course, school work. But I managed to get this done! And I started a couple more one-shots, but we'll see if I can finish them. So once again, thank you to all of those who read and review this! You're lovely people and I love you to bits!**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The Hunter

Chapter Fourteen

Edgar had stayed at the Emerson's until Saturday. He would have liked to stay longer, hell maybe even loved, but he did not want to use up the rest of their hospitality; two days of Edgar was enough. He decided to stop by the comic book store, just to check in quickly to make sure everything was up and running. Although his father was slightly more sober than usual in the past months, Edgar does not trust him with keeping up the store; it is their only source of income. Edgar is not about to let his father run it into the ground.

Much to his surprise, the shop was doing quite well, maybe a little less organized than what he would have liked but at least it was not completely looted and up in flames. In the couple of hours Edgar has been in the store, his father has not said one word to him; no greetings or his regular wordless grunts, only silence. Edgar doesn't mind it, though. He was not in the mood to talk and was more than willing to keep things quiet. The only noise in the store was the screams and carnival music coming from the boardwalk and the ticking of the wall clock. It is abnormally loud today, or at least that is how it seems to Edgar.

When he was younger he had liked this noise. Mrs. Frog, having never been able to get in touch with her maternal instincts, did not enjoy doing typical mother things: reading her children bedtimes stories, tucking them in, singing them lullabies- they were just not high on her priority list, so Edgar relied on the rhythmic ticking to lull him into sleep. But now Edgar finds no comfort in the noise. Each tick is another reminder, another second without Alan. He counts them to himself- 1, 2, 3, 4- four more seconds without his brother. Those four seconds eventually add up to sixty seconds; a minute, and the minutes changed into hours, which turns into days and then weeks and years, eventually becoming forever. How long is forever? Edgar wonders. He watches as the second hand runs over the twelve. It's too long, much longer than he will be able to stand.

Sam enters the comic store with Michael following behind. The eldest Emerson stands awkwardly as Sam scopes the room for Edgar. He spots his friend busy rearranging comics, grinding his teeth as he carefully decides the right place. Michael stands awkwardly in the back and looks for something to preoccupy his time. While he looks around his mind flashes back to a random moment.

It was starting to get late; the sun had nearly set and the more colourful characters are starting to crawl out from their homes. Michael had just spent the majority of the day hanging out with Star and Laddie at the beach and was heading for the boardwalk to get a bite to eat. As they walked through the swarming crows, Michael and Star conversed amongst each other, mostly sticking to boring, adult topics that Laddie did not particularly care for. He looked about, trying to find something to keep his interest. The boardwalk can be an exciting place for a young child; all of the flashing lights, the strange looking people, the carnival games and loads of junk food, but Laddie had been there so often that all of the magic was starting to wear away. It was all rather boring to him now.

Laddie stopped in his tracks as the trio passed the Frog brother's comic store. He stood in front of it, staring at all of the different comics set on display. He could see Sam and one of the brothers through the window and longed to be with them. They were less boring than Star and Michael, and he did not have to worry about turning around to a kissing scene as he often did when he was with the other two. He found it troubling; why would Star want to drink anyone's spit?

Star and Michael slowed their pace once they realized Laddie was no longer with them. "Laddie, what are you doing?" Star asked. Laddie turned to her but did say anything. He answered her by walking towards the comic book store. Star looked at Michael and shrugged. "I guess we're going there now," she said, smiling.

Michael found his brother near the front. Sam appeared to be in a rather heated debate with Edgar over some comic Michael did not recognize. "Hey, Mike," Sam had said once he took notice to his brother's presence. Edgar glares at the newcomers, carefully studying them for any remaining signs of vampirism. One can never be too careful when dealing with Santa Carla and the undead. Michael looked at Star and rolled his eyes; can the Frog brothers be any more ridiculous? Star only lead giggled as she led them further into the store.

Michael was too busy listening to his girlfriend to notice the other Frog brother standing on a shaky stack of boxes, trying to reach something that was placed a bit too high for him, and bumped into the boy, nearly knocking Alan to the floor. Alan, in a minor state of confusion from sudden shock of falling, made an attempt to grab the shelf for support as his box tower collapses beneath him. Luckily, Michael was able to catch Alan before he ended up on the floor amongst the boxes. For a slight moment, Michael had held on to him, noticing Alan's quick breathing against his chest. How strange, Michael had thought at the time. It was as if he had never thought of the Frog brothers breathing before, though it was perfectly natural considering the fact that they are humans, but something as natural as breathing seemed too normal for either of the brothers to do.

"Sorry, bud," Michael said as he set Alan down. "I didn't see you there. Are you alright?"

A look of embarrassment passed over Alan's face for a moment, but as quickly as it had showed itself, it was gone and replaced with his usual nonchalant expression. "I'm fine," he mumbled as he collected his boxes and began to rebuild his tower. Alan took a step back, studying the finished product with a hint of worry in his features. Does he want to make another attempt at this?

"Here," Michael said, taking down a couple boxes so that there was only one left. He steps on and reaches for a box that has been pushed far back. "Is this the one you need?" Alan nodded and looked to his brother; he would not hear the end of it if Edgar found out that Michael, Sam's rather slow older brother, had to help get a box down. Michael slid out a dust covered box and passed it down to Alan. "Here you go, bud." Alan accepted it and quickly took it over to the counter for sorting.

Why he is remembering this now, Michael wonders. It is such an odd memory; so small and random.

"So we were going to stop by the cemetery to leave some flowers for my grandma, and we were probably going to go to Alan's too," Sam says. "And I was wondering if you wanted to come with us. You don't have to, though. I mean if you don't want to, but it would be fu- No! Not fun! What I meant-."

Edgar allows Sam to ramble out the rest of his explanation while he tries to decide whether to go or not. It should be a given yes; Alan is his brother after all, and Edgar has not yet been out to the site since the funeral. He should go- but with the Emerson family? To Edgar it seems like a private affair, going to visit his brother's grave site for the first time, but this may be his only chance of a free ride. There will be no way he will be able to bike that far nor will he find a good time to do it if he's going to start working at the comic store again. He could ask Aunt Katherine to take him, but- oh God- that is a terrible idea. He could never go with Aunt Katherine, never with her.

"Sure," he says, cutting into Sam's babbling.

Sam blinks. "Oh, good! So do you want us to wait for you to finish up here?"

"No," Edgar says, glancing over at his father. "I'm not going anything important. My dad pretty much has everything under control."

"Alright. Hey, Mike, Edgar is coming too!"

* * *

The hunter left his mother's family with warm farewells in the early hours of the day after Thanksgiving. Brian/Ryan had avoided as much possible contact with him ever since their incident, which is perfectly fine with the hunter. The boy had already served his purpose and is no longer of use or interest to him. As long as Brian/Ryan keeps his end of the bargain up, the hunter does not care if he sees him again.

The hunter arrives home on Saturday. The first thing he had to do was check in on his sister. He does not like leaving Kim alone for so long; there's no telling what that crazy woman will get into while he is gone. The hunter is rather pleased to return a decently clean house, and was even more pleased to find that Kim had not brought anymore cats into the house during his absence. It is a habit of hers, conning animals into following her home so she may add them to her collection. The hunter would always have to be the one to get rid of them, most often just throwing them out into the street and hoping they do not come back. There was one occasion when one of those damned animals just kept coming back every time he threw it out. He ended up having to throw that one in a river. He always kept Buttons around, though. Buttons, for reasons the hunter cannot and will not ever understand, is his sister's favorite. Kim is never too upset when the other cats leave, but if he goes anywhere near her monstrous cat there will be a chance of bloodshed.

As soon as the hunter made sure his sister's house had not been taken over by cats, he decided to pay a visit to his rabbit. They have been separated for far too long. He stands in front of the headstone, fingering the dog tags that he still continues to wear, though they are much less obvious to the common eye. He thinks of the night when he finally got his rabbit, how the boy had nervously clutched onto the tags while struggling his way through a rather awkward conversation. That was so long ago; around four months now.

The hunter's thoughts of his rabbit are interrupted when he hears a peculiar sound; laughter. Laughter in a cemetery? How odd! He looks around, trying to find the source of the sound. The hunter spots a group of four not too far off. It's them; the brother, the blue eyed demon and his family. It was the nosy brat who had been laughing as his elder brother messed with his hair. The rabbit's brother follows along looking uninterested. The hunter moves to a new spot several feet away and turns his face downwards to some random headstone so that it is more difficult for him to be seen. He glances up and watches them, waiting for them to go to the rabbit. They don't, though; they go off in a different direction to another grave. The hunter wonders who else they could be visiting; a family member was his best guess, most likely someone from the friend's family. He knows that he should leave. He should go before he is recognized and confronted, before those damned blue eyes can spot him again. Oh, but this is such an interesting scene! What a wonderful opportunity to be able to witness the reactions to his work! He must stay, he needs to see this.

The hunter once again moves to a spot that is even further away, and chooses another random person to temporarily mourn. He will still be able to see them decently well from here. If he is lucky enough perhaps he will be able to hear any conversations as well. Oh, he hopes that they do talk! There better be talk and tears; he is not risking his safety for nothing.

Edgar and the Emerson boys watch as Lucy arranges a bouquet of plastic flowers in a sturdy vase next to her mother's headstone. "There," she says as she fluffs out a couple of flattened petals. "Those look a little festive, don't they?" She sighs. "Mom always loved this time of the year." Lucy quietly stares at the shining headstone, lost in thoughts and memories. A small smile crosses her lips but it does not quite reach her eyes.

"Are you ok, Mom?" Sam asks.

Lucy blinks as she is drawn back into reality. "Oh, of course I am, sweetie," she says, giving her youngest child a brief hug. They stand there without saying anything, all looking at the headstone. Edgar begins to feel uncomfortable. This is too much of a personal moment; this isn't his family, he should not be here for this. He wonders about Lucy's mother- what she was like, if she was anything like his mother. Probably not, she was most likely like Lucy; very kind and understanding, and perhaps a bit naive. That is the only sort of person he could see married Sam's grandpa, for that long.

"Well," Lucy says, breaking the silence. "Should we go see Alan now?"

This sounds odd to Sam. It seems to be too normal of a statement, like Alan is still alive and they were just going to stop by Alan's for a visit. But Alan is not at home, he is here in the cemetery; dead. A sickening cold settles itself in the pit of his stomach and begins to work its way up through the rest of his body. Alan is dead, even after all of this time is still does not make any sense. As the cold continues to fill his veins, Sam decides that maybe that this is not such a good idea, maybe even a terrible idea. Yes, most defiantly a terrible idea. He does not want to see the grave; he is not ready for it. But this has to be worse for Edgar, Sam tells himself. He has nothing to complain about. He glances at his friend, who wears no expression that Sam can easily decipher. If Edgar can do this then so can he, hopefully.

Sam slings an arm around Edgar's shoulders as they begin to walk toward Alan. "I wish you would stop doing that," Edgar says to him.

"Sorry, bud," Sam replies without removing his arm. "I can't. You're just going to have to accept my affection; there is no other way around it." Edgar grunts in reply. He just does not understand that kid.

Edgar is not disturbed by the sight of his brother's grave, not nearly as much as Sam, who is already breaking down. Sam makes an attempt to hide it by taking his arm away from Edgar and crossing both arms across his chest, trying to hold back all of the grief inside. He takes in a shuddering breath to suck back those tears that beg for release. Michael pulls his little brother close to him. Sam leans into the hug, seeking comfort just as he had the day that they buried Alan. But no, the tombstone does not bother Edgar. Aside from the name and dates, it does not remind him of his brother. It looks like it is there by mistake; just a misunderstanding because Alan is dead, or at least it still does not seem like that. Even with that stone right in his face, a part of Edgar still believes that Alan is going to come back. It is only a hope- a fool's hope- but his heart will not agree with his mind.

Lucy drives a set of flowers similar to the ones they had just left her mother into the ground. Edgar finds this slightly amusing; Alan getting flowers? His brother would have never approved or such a gift. He would not have even known what to with flowers. But it was a nice gesture, better than Edgar can give. He had thought about going back to get the beret, but he couldn't. Even if it does rightfully belong to Alan, Edgar cannot bring himself to give it back.

Something to the side of him catches Edgar's eye. It is man; balding middle aged one dressed red polo and jean jacket. He recognizes this man, or at least he thinks so. "Hey," he whispers to Sam. "Look at that guy over there."

Sam pulls himself away from Michael a little, trying to get better look at what Edgar had briefly pointed to.

"Not like that!" Edgar whispers loudly. "He'll see you. You need to look at him without looking at him."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"What are you guys talking about?" Michael asks, now looking in the direction of the stranger.

"I said don't look!" Edgar says, still trying to keep his voice down. God, these people; don't they know anything about spying?

Sam looks again, this time trying to move only his eyes. "He kind of looks like." Sam's mouth drops open a little as he realizes who the man is. "It's him, that magician guy!"

"What?" Michael asks.

"Remember, I told you about him," Sam says. "We say him that one time and he had Alan's dog tags."

"We don't know if those were Alan's."

"And then Edgar and I went to," Sam begins to say before Edgar cut in. He was not about to let Sam spill all of their secrets and jeopardize the investigation, not when they were finally getting somewhere.

"They were," Edgar says.

Michael shakes his head. "But you don't know that. You two can't go around accusing everyone of murder; it's dangerous."

"But, Mike," Sam says.

"No."

The hunter decides he should leave. He saw them looking over a few times, all three of the boys. They had tried to be secret about it but it was sorry attempt on their part, or was so in the hunter's eyes. Silly commoners, always trying to hide from him! Hunters see everything. He waits awhile before leaving, leaving enough time between the looking so that his exit looks less suspicious. Before he goes, he says a good-bye; these words are directed at the random headstone but are meant for his rabbit. The hunter heads for his beaten up car, trying his best to not look over at the group. As he passes them, the hunter half expects someone to say something, to try to stop him from leaving. No one says anything, though; not one word. He is able to once again escape without being noticed.

* * *

Edgar turned down Sam's offer of coming over after they were done with cemetery. He can't, he had told his friend, his aunt was coming over and he should probably be there. This is true, much to Edgar's dismay; his aunt is supposed to be stopping by that Saturday for another checkup. He will need to be there to help keep his mother calm. She is always trying to pick fights with her sister, always turning any little thing into a competition. It was a habit she had picked up from childhood and still carries around until this day, that as well as hair pulling. There were a few occasions where Mrs. Frog became so agitated with her sister's goody two-shoes act that she would yank on a lock of her sister's hair; this is where Edgar usually had to step in. This is one of the reasons why he cannot stand that woman; she is so immature most of the time, it is like he's the parent and she's the toddler.

Edgar finds his mother sitting alone in the living room with a box sitting out in front of her. He can tell Aunt Katherine has already been here; the house appears to have been cleaned up a little and his mother's outfit is a little more coordinated and not embarrassingly revealing. Mrs. Frog looks up as Edgar stops in the doorway. A faint light shines in her eyes, shyly peaking through the mixed glaze of drugs and grief. She is also smiling, and not her dreamy, doped up smile or her I'm-too-tired-to-deal-with-you-boys-but-I-have-to-because-I'm-your-mother smile; it is a real one, or at least the closest thing to a real one that Edgar has seen. "Hi, Edgar," she says. "Come look at what Aunt Katie brought us."

Edgar hesitates. She is fully dressed and not slurring her words. Is she sober, he wonders. Well, at least more than usual. Edgar is not quite sure of what to make of this; this has not happened to him for a long time. What should he do?

"Come here," Mrs. Frog says, lightly patting the floor beside her.

"Where is Aunt Katherine?" Edgar asks as he walks towards his mother.

"She went out to run some errands, thank God," Mrs. Frog says bitterly as she digs through the box. "She has been here all morning messing up the house. Just look at it! I have my house a certain way, but of course it's not right because it's not her way. It always has to be her way, you know, ever since we were kids."

Edgar nods, though he does not agree with his mother's displeasure. His aunt likes to keep her house in an immaculate state and takes great pride in its tidiness. His mother, on the other hand, did not particularly care for cleaning. There was little point to it since the boys were only going to mess it up as soon as she finishing cleaning, she would say. Besides, she likes how it is; it looks lived in and not some god damn prissy magazine picture.

Edgar sits down on the floor next to his mother and looks inside the box. It is filled with pictures, many of them that Edgar does not remember seeing before. He can barely recognize his and Alan's younger selves in the pictures as he had not seen many photos of himself before. His parents were never ones to remember to take pictures, even on special occasions. Apparently Aunt Katherine had, though; she had enough to make a pretty decent collection. Edgar selects one and carefully studies it. The setting is vaguely familiar to him; a picnic on a summer day at some park, probably one of the family gatherings he and his brother were dragged to. Edgar guesses that he is around five in this picture, possibly six. Both he and Alan are smiling in this picture; this was back when they both still were too young and naive enough to believe that the world was mostly good, that the biggest problems in life were avoiding their loser cousin and who could swing higher.

"Look at this one!" Mrs. Frog exclaims and passes another picture over to her son. Edgar looks at it. They are even younger in this one, both still wearing diapers. "Isn't that just adorable? That is back in the days when you used to hate Alan."

Edgar frowns. "I never hated Alan."

"Of course you did!" Mrs. Frog says. "You were just too young to remember. You hated him from the moment we brought him home, and would pee on his stuff sometimes. It wasn't until Alan starting walking too did you star to like him more."

Edgar shakes his head and searches for more pictures. He would never do anything as immature and embarrassing as urinating on his brother's stuff. She must be mistaken; it's not like she can remember correctly considering how much of the time she spends being high. Her brain must be fried. Edgar looks over at her mother. She is quiet now. The smile has completely vanished now, and that dime light in her eyes begins to fade as she stares intently at a picture; it is a recent one taken during the previous Christmas holiday. She almost looks hungry, Edgar says to himself. A vision beings to play in his mind; his mother hastily jams the photograph into her mouth, salvia dripping freely like a savage beast as she tries to chew it down into a more eatable piece. She manages to get the entire picture down in one exaggerated swallow and then wipes away the salvia on the back of her hand, looking quite satisfied with herself now that the photo is gone. Edgar has the urge to take the picture away from her, just in case she does actually try to eat it. "Mom?" he says.

"You miss your brother, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course I do."

She pauses. Her hands tremble as she continues to stare at the picture. "My poor baby," she says softly. The foggy look begins to cover her eyes again, shutting out whatever light that was still left. Edgar knows that he has now lost her. Mrs. Frog tightens her grip on the picture, slightly bending the edges in the process. She clutches harder as if afraid to let it go and the photograph receives further damage. Edgar begins to panic; he cannot let her ruin that picture, Alan's picture! Aunt Katherine should have never left his mother with something as valuable as these pictures; she should have known that she would have only ruined them.

Mrs. Frog begins babbling in words that Edgar cannot understand. He grinds his teeth, frustrated with this situation. They were just about to have a normal family moment, well as close to normal as they will ever get, and she has to go and ruin it by being crazy again. "What?" he asks.

"They took my baby," she says, this time managing to keep most of her words recognizable. Edgar cringes at her wide, blank eyes. They look too young, like they belong to a child seeking answers from a parent. That is how it always is; his mother is the child and Edgar is the parent. "They took my baby away from me."

They? They as in the plural form? Does she know something, Edgar wonders. No, she can't. These are only more of her druggie ramblings. Still, he wonders. "Who are they?" Edgar asks.

"You know, they; the people who took Alan. But they'll bring him back, right?"

"Alan's not coming back." Edgar regrets this as soon as the words leave his mouth. How could he be so harsh to his poor, delusional mother? God, he is such a terrible son, such a horrible brother.

Mrs. Frog does not seem to be bothered by her son's blunt reply, though. "They will," his mother says, patting the picture down. "They'll bring him back." She rises from the floor, taking the box with her. "I think I'm going to bed now, Edgar. It's getting late and I am tired, so very tired."

Edgar looks at the clock; it is hardly two in the afternoon. "Alright," he says, also getting up. "I'll take those. You can just go to bed."

"Oh, thanks, Eddie." She hands him the box and sloppily ruffles his hair. "You're such a good boy. Good-night now."

"Yeah, good-night."

* * *

**I promise that the next chapters w****ill be more eventful! Yeah, that is pretty much all I have to say. It's late and I am ready to go to bed. Nighty night!**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The Hunter

Chapter Fifteen

When his aunt returned from running errands Edgar showed her the picture that his mother had nearly ruined. He asked her to take the pictures back and keep them at her house; he didn't want them and his parents will most likely only end up destroying the rest. Aunt Katherine understood this; her sister has never been very good with taking care of possessions, especially ones that do not belong to her. She would often misplace things, losing them to never be recovered. Though Aunt Katherine did understand her nephew's worry, she would not take back the box of pictures; they are Edgar's and he should be able to keep them. But she did agree to help Edgar find a safe place to hide the photographs as well as the rest of Alan's belongings so that they may not also be damaged or mysteriously disappear.

They had gone through the boys' bedroom, sorting Alan's things into different boxes for storage. Edgar refused to throw anything out; anything that was once his brother's must be saved. He would also not allow his aunt to touch them empty bed. They left it in the same condition; an unmade mess of sheets and Edgar has no plans to ever change it. He needs it to stay the same.

They packed away Alan's clothing, which would be sent up to the attic. The closet looked so empty then to Edgar, the whole room did. He never realized that Alan had so much stuff. Edgar kept a few things in their room, including the beret; he was not ready to part from it just quite yet. Aunt Katherine asked if he was sure he did not want any of the pictures.

_Are you sure? You could have a few just to keep out._

Yes, he was sure he did not want them. It was not only because he fears what his parents may do to them; he cannot bear seeing them, especially the photos taken in more recent years. They are painful to look at, too harsh of a reminder of what once was, how it is now and what will never be. Edgar hates looking at them and seeing his brother's face for he knows that it will never change. He will always look that young; he will always be a teenager. While Alan remains frozen in time, Edgar will only continue to change. He will get older, forever growing further away from brother with each passing moment. Edgar will be able to grow up; he will get taller and mature. He will be able to experience so anything that Alan will never get the chance to: high school, driving, suffering through tests, graduating, being an adult. Maybe if he ever finds the time or interest he will even experience more adult relationships. Alan will never be able to know that, all he will ever know of sex is pain and horror. Edgar can already feel these changes taking place. He knows with each new day the distance that separates him and his brother becomes further. Edgar is growing up without Alan and there is no way he can stop it, but in his heart they will be ever the same; two brothers just trying to make it through life.

Edgar knew that he could no trust his parents with anything; keeping up with the house, working at the comic store, buying food or even being sober. You name it and they will find some way to fuck it up. He is surprised, though, to find that his father has found another level of being a horrible parent. Edgar agreed to help out in the store today- when does he not?- even thought it meant giving up one of his few chances to sleep in. He sits outside, picking at the ground as he waits for his father to finally leave the house. "If he has to be so fucking early he could at least be on time," Edgar mumbles to himself as he tears out another handful of grass. Heavy footsteps tread down the driveway, crunching the rocky gravel as it draws closer to Edgar. He looks up, prepared to give his father some snarky remark about being late but remains silent as a state of minor confusion sets in. Mr. Frog pushes along a bike; Alan's bike.

"What are you doing with that?" Edgar asks, his brow furrowing at the sight.

"I'm taking it into town."

"For what?"

"To sell." Mr. Frog opens the side down of the car. Edgar stands, his confusion now turning into rage. Selling Alan's bike? What the fuck is wrong with him?

"You can't do that."

"We need the space and the money," his father replies in a monotone voice as he struggles to fit the bike into the backseat.

"You can sell mine."

"You still use yours. This one is sitting there and I am tired of having to look at it. Besides, we need the money."

"But its Alan's," Edgar says. The anger in his voice starts to pick up as the situation starts to settle in. This can't be serious; his dad has to be on drugs right now.

Mr. Frog clenches his jaw at as his deceased son's name is spoken. Oh, it is such a terrible word; his ears cannot bear to hear it! Why must people insist on speaking that cursed word? "We need the money," he repeats.

"Why? Have you run out of your pot money?" Edgar takes a hold of the bike and tries to pull it back out. They are not selling Alan's bike. He will not allow it.

"Bills," Mr. Frog says blandly, ignoring his son's last statement. What does he know? He wouldn't understand. That kid could never comprehend what a horrid symbol that bike is. It needs to go; it must.

"A bike is not going to pay for the bills. You can't get rid of Alan's bike! I won't let you!"

Mr. Frog pulls back on the bike, trying to rip it from Edgar's grasp. Damn it, when did that kid get so strong? "I bought those damned things and I will do what I want with them."

"No you didn't," Edgar growls as he yanks again. "Aunt Katherine and Uncle Jerry got them for us two Christmases ago; not you! You never do anything!"

The elder lets loose of the bike and slaps his son across the face. Edgar too releases his grip on the bike allowing it to fall to the ground. A hot pain stings the side of his face. Edgar stares at his father, too shocked to say or do anything. His dad has rarely given him any sort of physical contact let alone hit him. Mr. Frog ignores the obvious look of hurt on his son's face and finally manages to get the bicycle in the car. "Let's go."

Edgar does get into the car, but sits as far away from his father as he is allowed. He turns away from him, his head pressed up against the window and keeps his eyes on the passing scenes, scowling as he tries to fight back bitter tears. Edgar hates his father; he hates him so much! Since when has that dumbass pothead ever cared about bills? All he ever thinks about is his stupid drugs, not him or his brother. He never cared about them, never liked them; he has no right to sell Alan's bike when he does not even care about him.

Mr. Frog drops Edgar off in front of the comic store while he leaves to find a busier place to sell the bike. "Do you think you can handle opening up?" he asks, tossing Edgar the keys.

"Yeah, I've only been doing it for the past five years."

Mr. Frog pauses for a moment as he watches his remaining son slam the car door and stalk over to the store. He thinks about trying to explain himself, some sort of excuse for his behavior, but says nothing. There is nothing he can say to make Edgar understand, not when he does not understand himself. Instead, Mr. Frog drives off, ready to be rid of the bike that haunts him.

Michael has been running errands for his mother all throughout the day so that he could earn a little extra spending money for the weekend. He had invited his little brother along to get the kid out of the house, but Sam said no; he was tired and just wanted to hang out at home. Michael hates leaving him like that, all sulky and sad, but he had to go. He will make it up to Sam later.

He walks down the boardwalk, heading for his mother's video store to return some of the money left over from grocery shopping. Michael frowns as he sees someone a few feet ahead of him. It is an older looking man with a long, unkempt beard. The man holds a bike with a "For Sale" sign taped to it. He looks familiar, though Michael cannot think of from where. Michael recognizes the bike before he can place a name with the bearded man. That is Alan's bike; the one Sam used the night Alan disappeared. He has seen it many times before and there was no mistaking it. The man holding onto Alan's bike became more recognizable. It must be the Frog brother's dad, Michael says to himself. He looks similar, though it is odd to see him not slumped over in some corner.

Michael stops in front of Mr. Frog and looks at the bike, pretending to be interested in it. Yes, it is defiantly Alan's; he has seen it many times before, there is no mistaking it. He turns his eyes up to the Frog's. They are clear for once, not clouded with drugs or guarded by sunglasses. They remind him of Alan's; nonchalant bordering on cold. "Are you interested?" the man asks in a bland voice.

"Maybe," Michael says. "Why are you selling it? Is there anything wrong with it?"

"No. It was my kid's but he doesn't use it anymore. I'm just looking for some extra space and money."

Michael glances at the bike, wondering if Edgar was aware of what his father is trying to do. "How much do you want for it?"

"How much do you got?"

Michael has twenty-five dollars left over, twenty-five dollars that are not his to spend. But he can't just let Alan's bike be sold to any random person; he has to save it. His mom won't care and he can always pay her back later. "I only have twenty-five on me now but I can-."

"That will work," Mr. Frog cuts in.

Michael bites his tongue. Really, twenty-five dollars for his dead child's bike? "Alright then," Michael says has he digs through his wallet and pulls out the money. "Are you sure about this? Won't your kid miss it?"

"No, he won't. I- I just want to get rid of it."

Michael nods and hands over the money. Mr. Frog pushes the bicycle forward, happy to rid of it so quickly. "Thanks." Michael he grabs onto the bike's handle bars. "I have a kid brother who will love this."

Mr. Frog hesitates before asking, "How old is he?"

"Fourteen," Michael says, watching other's face closely. He regrets this lie as strange look passes over the Frog. His face contorts a little as if he is fighting back a phantom pain. "Thanks," Michael quickly repeats before leaving. He needs to find Edgar and give this back to him.

Edgar drops a box to the floor, feeling a short lived satisfaction by the minor crash. He removes comic books, harshly stacking them onto the shelves. Thankfully there are no costumers to witness his tantrum, not that it would matter to Edgar; he would throw one even if there were witnesses. Angry tears take over his eyes, blurring his vision as he continues to stack the comics. Stupid Dad. Stupid dumb fucking bastard. Who the hell does he fucking think he is? Edgar hates him, hates him so fucking much. Only idiotic pothead could make his life worse, he always finds a way to. He had no right to do that, no right at all!

Edgar pauses his fit when he hears footsteps in the store. God, why can't people just leave him alone? That is all he wants, just to be alone. He turns around, prepared to yell at the unfortunate person that is foolish enough to interrupt his rage. Edgar's scowl fades as he faces Sam's brother, Michael, Michael with a bike; Alan's bike. What is he doing with Alan's bike?

"Uh, hi," Michael says. This is going to be more awkward than he thought.

"Why do you have that?" Edgar asks, skipping greetings.

"Um, your dad was trying to sell it so I bought it from him."

Edgar's brow furrows in confusion. Bought it? "You paid for it?"

"Yeah. I thought you would probably want it," Michael says. "Unless you don't. I really wasn't sure so I got it just in case."

Edgar feels those tears coming again. God, now he is going to cry in front of Michael! Can this day get any worse? He ducks his head, wiping his sleeve over his face to catch the tears before they fall. Michael shifts in discomfort, unsure of what he should do. He is not good with comforting people, not nearly as good as his mother. But he has to do something; he just can't let Edgar be, he's already so alone. Michael sets the bike up against a shelf and steps towards Edgar, pulling the boy into a rather awkward hug. Just pretend he's Sammy, Michael tells himself. Pretend he is Sam and then you'll know what to do. Edgar allows himself to relax a bit and leans against Michael's chest. He thinks of his father, how he had slapped for trying to protect his brother's memory, how he has lost the only family member that has ever cared about him. He thinks of how much he needs Alan right now.

"I can pay you back," Edgar says quietly.

"Oh, don't worry about it, bud," Michael says, rubbing the boy's back. "Just think of it as an early Christmas present."

Edgar sniffles, thinking of what a pathetic mess he has become- Crying and sniffling like some baby! "Can you keep it at your house?" he asks. "So he can't get rid of it again?"

"Are you sure? Won't you want it?"

Edgar nods. "He'll only try to get rid of it again. I don't want him to."

"Sure, bud. We'll keep it for you. I'm sure my mom won't mind."

The two look over and see Mr. Frog standing there. He looks angry, annoyed that the bike has returned, or so Edgar guesses. He pulls out of the embrace and wipes away his remaining tears. "They're going to keep it," he says, scowling. "They actually care about Alan and aren't trying to get rid of him."

"Come on," Michael says to Edgar. "We can take it back to the house now." Edgar nods as he takes his brother's bike, keeping his hands where Alan's once were. Maybe his dad is ready to move on, but Edgar is not; he will never let go of Alan.

Mr. Frog says nothing as they leave. He only watches, feeling agitated that his song is being comforted by some other man, a kid really. A kid is doing his job! He is supposed to care for his children. He is the one that is supposed to protect them from all of this pain; it's his job, a job that he has obviously failed as his bitchy sister-in-law has pointed out time after time. He can't help it, though. It's not his fault that Edgar denies him and the other managed to get kidnapped and started this mess. No, he does not mean it to sound like that! Of course it is not the boy's fault; he was just a child, he did not mean for this to happen.

Then there are those annoying detectives that kept trying to pin his son's murder on him. Mr. Frog would never hurt his child like that and most defiantly would never sell him for sex; not even for pot. But did they listen when he told them this? No! No they did not! They only kept pressing harder, trying to get him to confess to something he did not do. The male one- God he was the biggest arrogant son of a bitch he has ever met- thought it would a good idea to show him pictures of the body. Yes, what a great idea; showing a father pictures of his murdered child, that will defiantly make him want to talk! That won't make him angry at all! That is what they did; showed him those disgusting pictures and went into detail of how the boy suffered, because Mr. Frog really need to know how some insane pervert tortured his child.

He just wants to forget all of this; the pictures and the details, the bike and his son in general. Not forever, of course! Just for now, only for a little bit until it hurts less to remember. All he wants to do is to continue doing his job and move on, but no one will let him do that. Edgar won't, he will never step out of the way and let Mr. Frog do what he is supposed to. The boy just does not understand.

* * *

Once in a great while Star will get a weekend night off from The Dead Rat and is able to spend some extra time alone with Michael. Tonight is one of those nights, and Star has been looking forward to it all week. This time she did not even have to lug Laddie around since she had managed to convince her teenage neighbor into watching him.

She walks down the boardwalk, trying to find something to occupy her time while she waits for Michael to show up. It is December now, and the boardwalk is nearly empty. Without the warm weather, all of the tourists have left and the locals come out less often due to the unseasonably cold weather. Star does not mind the cold, though. To her it makes it seem more Christmas like. The whole city appears to have gotten a little caught up in the festive spirit; shops have been strung up with lights and yards decorated with slightly tacky plastic Christmas figurines. Someone has even taken the time to wrap red ribbon around each lamp post. It is a strange sight for Santa Carla, one that some people may consider it tacky, even ugly looking. But Star likes it; it makes Santa Carla appear less like the murder capital it is notorious for being.

Star stops in front of a diner, pausing a moment to admire their light display. She smiles at it and thinks of how this will be her first Christmas with Michael. A strange feeling of coldness passes through her, one not brought up by the chilly winter air as she realizes that this will be the first one without her old family, the first one in many years. Star does not think of them often, or at least she tries not to. There are times she feels a loss. She does not miss being part vampire, but she does miss the boys at times, even David and his possessive ways. They had been her only family for the longest time, vampire or not, and she still feels for them.

Sighing to herself, Star turns away from the diner and continues walking and waiting for Michael. She spots someone across the street; a lone man at a card table. Star recognizes him, or believes so from this distance. It's that man, she says to herself, that friendly man that would talk to her at the work. She should go talk to him, at least until Michael finds her.

The hunter grins as he sees the dark haired girl heading towards him. He has not seen her for quite some time, and rather enjoyed their talks at that dreadful bar she works at. It is such a shame that he can no longer go in there; she was such a lovely person to talk to. "Hello!" he says brightly as Star reaches his table. "I haven't seen you around in awhile!"

"I've been kind of busy," Star says, smiling. "This is my first night off in awhile."

"Oh? Anything special planned."

She nods. "I'm going to hang out with my boyfriend. I'm just waiting for him to show up."

"That sounds lovely," the hunter says. "So how have you been? Besides busy, that is."

"I'm good, I suppose. How about you?"

"Just splendid! I got to see some family over the Thanksgiving holiday. I haven't seen most of them in quite a few years."

"That's nice," Star says. "I went to Michael's; they had a couple of family friends over."

The hunter wonders if the rabbit's brother was included amongst the guests, if the rabbit would have been invited had he been alive to attend. He probably would, the hunter guesses, though he would have intervened and kept the child with him. It would have made his own family gathering a lot more enjoyable.

"So what is this?" Star asks, referring to the card table.

"Oh, I run small magic show in my spare time," the hunter explains. "I usually do it in the summer when there are more people around, but I have nothing to do tonight so I thought I could try my luck. It's not the best night for it, as you can tell."

"That's cool," Star says, smiling. "Could you show me a trick?"

"It would be my pleasure!" The hunter takes out a red foam ball. "As you can see," he says, "I have one ball in my hand."

Michael walks down the boardwalk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide them from the cold. Star said she would meet him around here, but he has yet to find her. As Michael turns a corner, he sees Star standing at some table, talking to a man. It's that magician guy, Michael realizes; the one Sam is always gone on about. As he reaches the table, Michael sees that the magician is doing the same trick as he had done the first night, the one when Alan was still alive.

"Hi," Star says as her boyfriend stands next to him. She quickly kisses his cheek. "How are you?"

"Fine," Michael replies blandly. He stares at the magician, looking for clues to why his little brother was so suspicious of this man. He sees nothing but a rather strange old man.

"This is," Star starts to say but pauses. "Oh, I'm sorry! I don't think I know your name."

"Brad Stewart," the hunter says with a grin. Secretly he would like to strangle this curly hair fool. He is so tired of him showing up everywhere and disrupting his life. The hunter extends a hand to the other man. Michael regards it and with a moment of hesitation accepts the offered handshake. As he grips the man's hand, an image fills his mind; Alan lying on a bed, trembling as large hand runs over his frantic chest. The hand moves up to the boy's face, gently cupping it as blond man leans forward and presses his lips down onto Alan's. It is the magician. Alan squirms as he tries to get away from his abuser, but the magician presses further into him, grinding his hips against the boy. The young teen whimpers as the elder's hands lower to his backside, groping and feeling his sore body. Not this again, please let someone save him. A short wave of pain and fear floods Michael's senses, and for a moment he can feel Alan's presence.

_Michael, please help me. It hurts so much._

But it cannot be Alan, Michael tells himself as the handshake ends. Alan is gone. It is only his imagination getting the best him; he has been listening to Sam too much. But why does Alan feel so close?

Star watches the two men stare at each other. Their expressions are serious and they appear to having a wordless conversation that she cannot decipher. "Well, I guess we should get going," Star says, wrapping an arm around Michael's. "Thanks for showing me your magic trick. It was nice seeing you again."

The hunter turns his attention to her and smiles. "No problem," he says. "You two have fun."

"Thanks!"

Star and Michael walk down the board walk hand in hand. "So what do you want to do?" she asks.

Michael shrugs. "Whatever you want."

"Are you feeling alright?" Star asks, looking up him with concern.

"I'm fine."

"You seem a bit off or something."

Michael bites the inside of his cheek, his thoughts focused on his most recent encounter with Brad the magician. "How do you know that guy?"

"He's been in a couple of times when I was working. He's a pretty nice guy."

"Sam thinks he killed Alan," Michael says thinking out loud.

"What? Why?"

"We talked to him a week before Alan died. He held Alan's hand when he did that one magic trick with the ball. I didn't think anything of it, but Sam is sure about it. He thinks that guy has Alan's dog tags too."

Star considers this. "I don't know. When I talked to him about Alan before, he didn't know anything about it. He actually seemed pretty upset about it."

"He could have been faking it." What is he saying? He's starting to sound like Sam.

"Maybe," Star says slowly. "I don't know, though; he seems like a pretty nice guy."

Michael shrugs. "That's just what Sammy thinks."

"Do you think he did it?"

"I don't know," Michael says truthfully. He does know that the magician defiantly gives off creepy vibes, but a child killer? He is not sure about that.

"What if he did?"

"I'll kill him," Michael says without hesitation. He would. Michael will slaughter the sadistic bastard raped and strangled that poor child. It would only be fair.

Star looks up at her boyfriend, feeling a bit taken aback by the strange calmness of his voice. Michael does not talk like that, so blunt and cold. She leans closer into Michael and sighs. "Do you think we will ever find out who did it?"

Michael shrugs. Honestly, he does not think so. Edgar had been right when he said the police of Santa Carla are completely incompetent. In the passing months since Alan's body was found, they had made no progress. It seems as if they had given up, which would be no surprise to Michael considering the lack of effort they put into searching for him.

"What do you think he thought about?" Star asks. "When he was gone, I mean."

"I don't know," Michael says. But he does know, or at least has some ideas. He has thought about it many times, coming up with various thoughts that could have gone through Alan's mind while he was being held captive. He would have been so lonely, so scared. Michael hopes that Alan did not wonder why no one came to get him, why no one cared enough to try to save him and left him to be tortured by some monster. He hopes that if he did, Alan did not include Michael in those people who left him to die, because Michael did want to find him; he wanted to save Alan more than anything, especially since he was the one who last saw him.

"You were right," Michael says. Star looks up at him feeling confused. She was right about what? "That one night; you were right when you said I should not have let him walk alone."

"Oh, Michael, it's not your fault. You didn't know."

"But I let him go, and I shouldn't have. I let him walk right into the hands of some freak."

"But you didn't know," Star repeats. "I don't think Alan would blame you."

Michael looks down at her and offers a weak smile. Maybe she was right, maybe Alan did not blame him. It would not matter much, though; Michael will always blame himself for what happened to Alan.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

The Hunter

Chapter Sixteen

At first Sam was reluctant about moving to Santa Carla. His family had just split up, so he was not too keen on the idea of leaving behind whatever was left of his old life. Truthfully he did not have many friends, at least not many that he would care to keep in touch with for a long period of time. For reasons he cannot understand, Sam has always had problems with fitting in. No matter how hard he tried, he just did not seem to quite fit in anywhere. He was always just a little too off beat for his peers. It is a frustrating thing, having to exist in a world where you know you do not truly belong. Sam had managed to snag a few friends, not close ones but still could be considered close, and all that hard work was about to go to waste once his mother announced they were moving to Santa Carla to live with their grandpa.

Sam, of course, was not happy about this, but he put up a positive front for his mother. He promised that he would try to make new friends, and who knows, maybe he will actually enjoy living in Santa Carla. His hopes in finally becoming a normal teen with a normal social life quickly rose when he became friends with the Frog brothers. He had never made friends so fast, and sure they were a little odd, possibly stranger than him, but they did not seem to care about that. They had accepted him, allowed him to join their group, and for once things were looking up for Sam. Maybe going to a new school, even if it is in a shithole like Santa Carla, would not be so now that he has two good friends.

Good things rarely last long for Sam, though. He would start the school year with only one friend, having lost the other a week or so before the semester began. He had not known Alan for very long, only a summer, but he was still one of the closest friends Sam ever had. The loss of Alan was tremendous, more than anything he could have imagined. Once he started school, Sam lost all interest in finding new friends. He hates these kids, hates the way they treat Edgar and how they turned a murder into a form of entertainment. To them Alan was nothing more than a character out of a legend; the murdered boy. Sam cannot stand it, how his friend has been reduced to nothing more than a two dimensional being. He had known that there was a real Alan and knew that there was more to him than his untimely, gruesome death. There was life behind that name and picture on all of those missing person fliers. No one wanted to remember that, though. No one wanted to talk about the Alan that was alive; all they cared about was the gritty details of the murder and different stories of how it could have possibly went down. This is why Sam hates these kids and lost interest in befriending any of them. They could say what they wanted about the Frog brothers, but at least Edgar and Alan never gawked at things the way these pitiful people do.

It worries his family how he isolates himself, how he spends most of his time in his room, reading comics or if he does so chose to socialize it is only with Edgar Frog. Sam does not care though. As long as he had Edgar as a friend, he considered himself to be fine, and comic books are better company than reality. In comics good always triumphs over evil, and for the longest time Sam actually believed it to be true. He had believed it up until the moment his mother had told him that Alan would not be coming back. He believed that they would find Alan and everything would go back to normal, because that is what is supposed to happen, right? The good people are always supposed to win, it would only be fair. And wasn't Alan good or at least good enough of a person to not have to suffer such a horrid fate? He had dedicated his time to protecting the people of Santa Carla from evil monsters; does that not count as something? He was so young too; too young to die. But the comics had lied as did the other who had told him so; good does not always win.

Sam sits outside of his school, waiting for Michael to show up and take him home. Michael has a habit of being late and Sam has become accustomed to having to wait. He did not mind it, really. It was one the few times he could stand being at school, when just about everyone else was gone and he finally got some time to think. He would spend these periods of waiting doing homework or reading a comic book that Edgar had lent him. Today Sam is rereading a copy of "Vampires Everywhere" the Frog brothers had given him when he first arrived in Santa Carla. He flips through the pages, skimming over the images, not really bothering to fully read it. His mind is focused on other things, back to the days of summer when they had met their first monsters. He thought of how Edgar and Alan had been when they had told him to call if he ever needed anything, how he had laughed at their strange, serious ways. They were defiantly the weirdest people he has ever met, but he would have never guessed he would have needed both of them so much in more ways than just vampire hunters.

Sam freezes on one spot, rereading the dialogue over and over again. A shadow passes over him, shading the page. He looks over and sees a girl standing next to him. She stares at Sam, appearing almost hesitant as she sits down. "Hi," the girl says, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. Sam mumbles a greeting and turns back to his comic. He wishes that this girl would just leave him alone but she has other plans. "You're Sam Emerson, right?"

Sam nods, trying to remember if he had seen this girl before. She vaguely resembles a girl that he has seen in his English class but does not bother to ask if it is true.

"I'm Anne," the girl asks. She watches Sam as he nods, hoping that he will say more. She has wanted to talk to him for awhile and ask him some questions to feed her curiosity. Anne pauses to think of what to say next. "You're friends with Edgar Frog."

"Yeah."

That is better than a nod; she is getting somewhere now. The girl plays with the hem of her sleeve, picking at the fraying strings of the plaid material. "You didn't go here last year."

"I moved here this summer."

"So did you know his brother then?"

Sam glances at the twitchy girl. "Alan? Yeah."

"Were you friends with Alan?" she asks, pulling her thumb up to her mouth and biting on the nail as she waits for an answer.

Sam frowns and turns back to the comic. "I am friends with him."

The girl opens her mouth but then closes it. She looks out ahead, watching a dog run around in a yard across the street. "I knew him too." Sam looks over at her. "Not very well," she adds. "But we had a couple of classes together last year and I talked to him a few times. He and I usually ended up together when we had to do group work. He was nice."

He can feel the cold coming back. It rushes through his veins, pulling at his heart strings and closes up his throat. He misses Alan.

Anne pulls her thumb nail out of her mouth, examines it and wipes her salvia onto her jeans. "How did you find out about it?"

It had been this mother that told it. It was late afternoon and Sam had just returned from taking Nanook on a walk. He was in a pretty good mood, better than he had been in the past few days now that he was allowed to leave the house for a little bit and get some fresh air. As soon as he stepped into the house, Sam knew something was wrong. He could feel it, the thick electricity of change that hung in the air. He walked through the abnormally silent house, looking for any signs of life. Sam found his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Michael. Both were looking down and did not notice Sam's presence until he asked if they were ok. Lucy looked over and told him that they needed to talk.

_Honey, sometimes things do not always turn out the way it should, and bad things happen to the people we love._

He knew what was coming next. His mother did not have to finished; his brain had already knew that she was going to say that Alan was dead but the connection could not make it to his heart. Sam stood there confused as Lucy went on tearfully trying to break the news.

"You're lying," Sam had said once she finished. She had to be. Alan cannot be dead, not when everyone kept saying that he was going to come back. They were going to find him any day now; everything was going to be ok. He watched Michael get up and leave without saying a word.

"Sammy," Lucy said.

"No." He turned away and headed for his room. She was lying, she had to be.

Lucy followed him upstairs, finding her son sitting on his bed, staring at the floor. Sam was crying, and tried to make sense of all of this; this just does not happen, not to people he knows.

"I'm sorry," Lucy said as she pulls him into a hug. She was truly sorry. She was sorry that her son had to witness such terrible things, things he should never have to know and for his poor little friend that had to suffer through those long days. "It's going to be ok."

"That's what you said before." Sam felt guilty for talking to his mother in that way. But he could not help it, he was upset, confused, angry and a lot more things he could never describe.

"I know. I know, sweetie."

Michael appeared in the doorway, his face looking a little flushed. Lucy motioned for him to join them. He sat down on her other side and was also enveloped into the embrace. "I know this is hard, boys, but there is not much we can do now. All we can do is pray."

"Pray for what?" Sam asked. He could see the point of praying. The damage had been done, there was no hope left.

"For Alan. And for Edgar, he is going to need us now."

Sam nodded as leaned in closer to his mother and reached for his brother. Michael took his hand, squeezing it in an attempt of reassurance.

"But we're going to make it through," Lucy continued to say. "Everything is going to be ok."

That is how Sam found out. It was such a huge moment, one that he could remember so vividly but did not possess the vocabulary to ever properly describe it. "My mom told me," is all he says.

"I saw it on the news," Anne says. "I was sitting in the living room, reading while my parents were watching the news. The story came on about how the police found a body, but my mom turned it. She said it was sick and something children should not hear. I stole a newspaper the next day and read about it, though."

Sam has not seen any news castings or read any articles about Alan. His mother, like Anne's, wanted to shield her son from it. She kept the papers out of sight and forbid Sam from watching the news, though it was not necessary since he had never had interest in watching it even if it was about his friend. Lucy and Michael would talk about it. Sam had heard their low, whispering conversations but he was never included in them. He had lost his friend and that was traumatizing enough.

"I read all of them," Anne continues to say. "I keep them all and read them over and over again. Sometimes I hope that if I keep looking that I'll find something the police might have missed." She blushes once she realizes her rambling. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

She hesitates before talking again. "How do you think he died?"

Sam shrugs. He does not like talking about this part.

"It was obviously some sort of serial killer or something," Anne says. "You can tell by the way he was killed and for how long the guy kept him. You know that he had to have known what he was doing." She cannot stop talking now. She has wanted to say something about this for so long, but no one wants to listen. "Doesn't being strangled sound terrible? I mean, to know that you are going to die but there is nothing you can do to stop it. And he was alive during it all; I saw in one of the newspapers that there were scratches all over his neck and his finger nails were all broken from trying to get the rope off. It must have been terrible for him. I know that I would have been scared. And then-."

Sam shuts it out. He does not want to think about Alan that way; struggling to live. He wants to yell at this girl, to tell her to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. Sam spots Michael driving up. Thank God; it's about time! "That's my brother," he says, jumping up. He shoves the comic book into his back, leaving Anne sitting on the steps without a good-bye.

"Who was that?" Michael asks as Sam gets into the car.

"Some girl. And no, she is not my friend."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam says. "Let's just go. I'm tired.

They remain silent as Michael drives them home. "I'm worried about you, bud."

"I'm ok. Really I am. It's just school this week and-."

"No," Michael interrupts. "It's not just this week. You've changed a lot, you used to be happier." He pauses. "I miss it."

Of course he has changed; his life had. Everything has changed. "What do you think he would have been like if we found Alan in time?"

Michael thinks about this. Alan would defiantly not be the same as he was before the abduction; there would be no way he could be after all he had gone through. Whatever innocence he had left would have been destroyed. He would be broken, unable to trust people again. Considering his family situation, Alan would not have a good support system to help him, thus making recovery all the more difficult. He would have Edgar, but even Edgar's strong devotion to his brother would not be enough; he was still young too. Michael knew that his mother would step in, though. She would play the role of mother to Alan just as she was doing with Edgar now. Michael would have been there for him too, or at least he would try to be. He would owe it to Alan after setting him up for all of that pain.

"Different," Michael says. "He went through a lot. He probably would need a therapist or something."

Sam picks at the material of his seat. "I wish we found him. I miss him."

"Me too."

* * *

Collin knows quite a bit about Alan Frog. He knows the date Alan was born and the date he died. He knows exactly how many people are in the boy's family, where they live and where they were the night Alan disappeared. He knows from talking to Alan's former teachers that Alan did not have the best of grades due to his problem with turning homework, but when it came to testing he did exceptionally well. Collin was also told Alan was usually quiet in class and only participated when forced to. His eighth grade math teacher said he once asked Alan if he would like to do a problem on the board. Alan replied no, thinking it was optional. When the class giggled about it, Alan only sat there, confused. He had not been particularly well liked amongst his peers. He was a strange child, very different from most of the kids, and was occasionally bullied. All of the teachers said Alan never appeared to be phased by it, though. His main focus seemed to be on work, not school or socializing, which was something else Collin also learned.

He found that the majority of Alan's life revolved around the family's comic book store. It was the children that did all of the work and paid all of the bills while the parents sat around. There was never any time to do homework or play; only work. The Frog brothers were children forced to play the roles of adults. They were the ones that took care of the house, who did the laundry and grocery shopping. It was Edgar and Alan who cared for their parents, always making sure they were fed and taken care of. The very thought of it makes Collin's blood boil. He hates to think that, that kid had already been robbed of so many things in life and then loses everything else to some monster. It does not seem fair that so much baggage should be inflicted on someone at such a young age.

Collin sits on the floor of the living room of his apartment sorting through a mass of papers. Just a week ago after receiving many complaints from both Alex and his boss, he was forced to take a break from Alan Frog's case and move onto their more recent and solvable assignments. He had promised to let it be and focus on his other work. Sadly, Collin has never been too good about keeping the promises he makes. He decided to set up a new office in the apartment he shares with his girlfriend, working into the late hours of the night, searching for something that he may have missed earlier. He works at it every day, carefully sifting for anything that may be a new clue; a name that pops up often, a lost item that had been recovered. But even after going through all of the evidence with a fine tooth comb multiple times, Collin has not been able to find anything new.

He spreads a map of Santa Carla onto the floor. There are three red circles marked on the paper, each representing a key location; one for Alan's house, one where his backpack had washed up and one where the body had been dumped. All three circles were space far apart, leaving a large area where the kidnapper could have kept Alan, and that may not be the only possibility it. But it was a good place to start. Collin skimmed over the map, dotting areas where convicted sex offenders live in purple ink. He had already done this once before with Alex, but he felt it would help to start over. He sighs as he creates another dot. So much purple, so many possibilities.

"Hey."

Collin looks up to see his girlfriend, Melissa, walking into the living room, eating a small container of pudding. He tries to keep back a frown; he has told Melissa many times before that not to bother him while he is working. But does she ever listen? No, of course not; she is Melissa and Melissa does not like to listen to people.

Melissa settles herself next to him and tries to whip her poorly dyed red bangs out of her eyes. Before her hair had been a beautiful natural blond, and one day she had gone to Collin, asking what he thought about her dying her hair red. He had said no; that would be a very stupid thing for her to do; her hair was already perfect. Melissa said alright. And what did she do? The very next day she went to her friend's house as a blond and came back with fire truck red hair. She took great pleasure in her boyfriend's dislike for the colour, and brought up how much she loves her new hair whenever possible as she knows that he would not dare to contradict her because he did not want to start at fight. "What 'cha doing?" Melissa asks as she swirls her pudding with the spoon.

"Working."

"You sure do like to work a lot." She places the spoon in her mouth, sucking off the contents as she reaches for a folder.

"I don't like working. And don't touch those," Collin warns. "You better not get any chocolate on that."

She pulls the spoon out of her mouth. "Or what?"

"You will regret it."

Melissa shrugs, unfazed by the threat and takes in another spoonful of pudding. She pulls out a stack of papers from the folder. Collin watches as she holds a picture of Alan, a stock photo that was taken from the school. He had seen it many times before. He could remember every detail about it without having to look. It had become so well known to him and gained a new type of depth that it now feels more like a picture of a celebrity than of an ordinary child.

"Aw, he's so little!" Melissa says, giving the spoon a lick. "He looks kind of sad."

"You would be sad too if your parents were deadbeats and you were the having to take care of their lazy asses."

She frowns. "Do you think he ever got to be a kid?"

"No."

Melissa sighs as she moves the picture to the bottom the stack, ready to move onto the next. Collin knows what is next, but does not warn her. It will be her own fault if she becomes upset; she should not be disrupting his work. Melissa stops at an autopsy photo of Alan's neck in which the garrote is still tightly cutting into his flesh. "Oh," she says softly, lightly touching the picture. "That poor, poor baby. How do you think anyone could do that to him?"

"It's Santa Carla; people here are sick."

Melissa takes another spoonful of pudding and sticks it in her mouth. She flips to the next picture, another autopsy picture but of Alan's upturned hand with an X carved into the palm. She traces the dark abrasions on the wrist. "Don't smudge those," Collin says. He is quickly growing more agitated by the moment. First she has to interrupt him and now she is screwing up his evidence.

"Do you think who ever did it feels bad?"

"No. He's a monster; he has no feelings."

She goes through more pictures, grimacing each time she passes another photograph of Alan's abused body. "Don't you have any happier pictures?"

"This is evidence for a murder case, Lissy. There aren't going to be any happy pictures."

"Not even any when he was alive?"

Collin does have one other photograph other than the somber school portrait. Just after the funeral, Alan's aunt had given him a picture taken from last Christmas, hoping it would better humanize her nephew. He does not mention this to Melissa, though. He has not said a word about it to anyone.

"I don't see how anyone could rape him," Melissa says, flipping back to the school picture. "He's so little and cute."

Collin tries to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes Melissa is too immature for his taste, it feels like he is talking to a sixteen year old girl. "You're making it sound like he was some puppy or stuffed animal. Besides, that doesn't mean anything. It could be a power thing for the guy, or maybe he was abused when he was young so he's taking it out on others. Or maybe he just really likes fucking kids."

Melissa wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Ew! Don't say it like that, it sounds so gross."

"It is what it is."

"You are so cold," she says, shaking her head. "Seriously, fucking and kids sounds terrible together. It's like so wrong."

"Well, what do you propose I say?"

"I don't know." Melissa licks her spoon, scrunching her eyebrows together in thought, nearly looking pained as she tried to come up with a new term. "I guess you could use rape, but that sounds just as gross."

"Yes, gross," Collin says. He creates another dot on the map. "It is just so totally icky."

Melissa blinks. "You are such a grouch, you know that?"

"If you haven't noticed yet, which I am starting to believe you have not, I am trying to do some very important work here."

"You're always working." Her voice is quiet and sad, like the whispering of a little girl who had lost her favorite doll. For a moment Collin feels guilty.

"I'm sorry, but this is really important to me. He has already suffered enough with that fucked up family of his and then being kidnapped by some psycho. Then there is also the shitty amount of effort the police put in their investigation to find him. I don't want to be another one of those people who let him down. I don't know how to explain it, really, but I feel like need to prove to him that he is not completely lost to this world."

Melissa nods as she scraps the remainders of her pudding out of the cup. "Did you ever find any more on that one guy?"

"Nope. I can't find a name or anything. No one seems to remember him, and if they do they aren't saying anything. I'm starting to wonder if I imagined the whole thing."

"I don't think you are that crazy, at least not yet. Do you remember what he looks like?"

Collin pauses, his marker frozen over the map, trying to come up with a proper description. "There wasn't anything outstanding about him," he says. "Just blonde hair that was starting to bald. His lips were kind of weird, though; they looked a bit rubbery or something like that. Like I said, there wasn't anything different about him, at least not in his appearance. He looked like he could be anyone's neighbor. But I just got this strange feeling from him. There was just something off about his behavior."

"You should get a picture or something."

"How am I going to get a picture when I cannot even find him?"

"A sketch. Duh!" Melissa says, shaking her head. "And here I thought you were a good detective; you didn't even think about having someone draw a picture of him! They do it all of the time!"

"And how do you know that?"

"TV, book. Here, let me get my sketchbook and I'll do it for you!" She rises from her spot, letting the folder of pictures fall to the floor. Collin sighs to himself at the mess; now he will have to reorganize it all.

"And you are going to draw it?" he asks.

"Duh! I've been taking drawing classes since I was a kid. I'm practically a pro at it."

Collin sighs again. He wishes that he had a girlfriend that was less interested in his work, someone more like his mother who refuses to hear any details of how things are besides "good". It would make his life a whole lot easier.

Melissa returns with her sketchbook and a box of coloured pencils in hand. She hops onto the loveseat, settling herself into a comfortable position. "Alrighty, let's do this!" she says, setting her sketch pad on her knees.

Reluctantly, Collin begins to describe the man he ran into at the cemetery to the best of his memory; the fading hair, the rubbery lips, the slightly crooked nose. He was tall, defiantly over six feet and was in his mid to late forties with average built. He dressed his age in bland sweaters and neutral colours. There were no noticeable scaring or tattoos that would make him stand out. Collin watches as Melissa colours in the picture. "Do you really have to do that?"

"Yeah, duh! It gives it more detail. And it will look better; black and white is so boring! Besides, I'm just about finished." Melissa scribbles in a little more red and passes the sketch pad over to her boyfriend. She waits patiently for feedback as Collin studies the picture.

"This is pretty damn good, Lissy," he says.

Melissa grins. "Told ya' I was a pro. Doesn't it look close or anything?"

"It's a pretty good match. I'll have to make copies of it tomorrow."

"Yeah? So do you think it will be any help then?"

"I hope so. It should; a visual element will make it easier."

"Great!" Melissa exclaims. "So when we do pass them out?"

"We?"

"Yeah, duh! I think it would be only fair if I got to come along. It will be fun!"

"Lissy," Collin says with a sigh. "This is a murder investigation, it is not fun. Trust me when I say this; you are not going to want to come with me."

"But I drew the picture."

"I know, and you did a lovely job, but I don't think it's something you want to do."

Melissa pouts and begins to play with her coloured pencils. Collin starts to feel both guilty and annoyed with her. God damn it, why must she be so difficult? "Fine, I'll think about it."

"Great!" Melissa exclaims, now smiling. She has won, she knows it. "This calls for victory pudding! Do you want some?"

"No thanks. I'm still working."

"Alrighty! I'll get you some!"

Collin sighs as Melissa heads for the kitchen to retrieve her pudding. There is something seriously wrong with that girl.

* * *

In the passing months since Alan left, Edgar's life had many changes. They have been both drastic and subtle, but all connected in some way. From the ashes of his brother's death, a new life has sprung. It continues to grow every day, forever reaching out and grabbing onto new people and new experiences, and though Alan is gone he is still at the center of Edgar's world. Everything he does, all new bonds he has formed have stemmed from his brother's death. As this year draws to a close, Edgar realizes how much his life has changed. There had been new friends, new adventures, and the loss of the most important person to him. Things that he had once found enjoyable are no longer as interesting.

Hunting for vampires, for example, is no longer the same without Alan. Edgar still has Sam drag along on his searches for the supernatural, but he was not nearly as experienced or had the interest that Alan had. Sam would get bored easily and whine until they did something else. It did not matter much to Edgar, though. He no longer had time to hunt down vampires and other supernatural beings. He now hunts humans instead of trying saving them. He has little need to protect humans now. It was one of them who took his brother's life after all; they did not deserve his protection. Edgar will find the one that killed Alan, and he will be sure to make him suffer a worse fate.

It is strange how things tend to work out, almost comical in a way. He had never imagined his life without Alan, never thought it was possible that he could go a day let alone a lifetime without him. But here he is now, biking home from school as he had done many times before with Alan, only now Alan is not here. Edgar had also never thought of making new friends to be a possibility, but now he has a new adopted family. He has become closer with the Emerson family, including Michael, which was something Edgar would consider laughable just a summer ago. They were all tied together by death, bound together in his brother's blood. While Edgar enjoys spending time with his new found family, something he does quite often after the bicycle incident involving his father, there are times he cannot stand being amongst them. It makes him feel guilty. He is such a bad brother, a terrible one for moving on to a new family and allowing himself to be loved. Alan never had that. They only had each other before, and now Edgar fears that he is replacing him. He hopes that Alan does not think that, if he can think. But Alan wouldn't mind, hopefully he would not. He would want Edgar to be happy, right? It would not be fair for Alan to leave Edgar alone when he died; he should be able to have a chance at happiness. But it would not be fair of Edgar to leave Alan either.

Edgar tightly grasps the handles of his bicycle. It's not fair, none of this is. He should not have to choose between his brother's life and his own. He tries to focus on the familiar scenery passing by to keep his thoughts on something more pleasant. It does not do much help. Everything looks grey and bleak. It all looks dead.

Three blocks from his house, something catches Edgar's eye. It is a car; an old, battered vehicle that seems vaguely familiar. He slows down his peddling a bit but not enough to be noticed. He has seen this car somewhere before. He almost remember it, it's on the tip of his memory.

Cemetery, his mind says to him.

Cemetery? Edgar wonders. He takes a quick look as he passes the car, catching shock of blond hair. Blond hair; that magician, the one he had seen at the cemetery when he had gone with Emerson family. Edgar continues to peddle on, not daring to look back. It was the magician, it had to be. He has never seen anyone else with a car like that. But what was he doing there? Does he live there? Edgar's mind freezes. He can't live there, that would mean Alan was only three blocks away from him the whole time. Alan could not have been that close, Edgar would have known it.

He can feel his blood starting to boil, pure rage flowing through his veins. That sick bastard was living so close to them. Alan had died three blocks from home; he had been so close to safety. They should have found him. But Edgar knows where the monster lives now. He can start planning his revenge. Alan's blood will not be the only one shed in that house.

* * *

**So it took two weeks for me to update this, and this was the best I could do. Sorry about that! **


	17. Chapter Seventeen

The Hunter

Chapter Seventeen

The Christmas holiday has never been a particularly joyous one for the Frog family. It is the same every year; they would make the two hour trip up to Aunt Katherine's house, the car loaded up with supplies for the torturous week ahead along assortment of random presents that Mrs. Frog managed to scrounge up. Edgar and Alan would be forced to sit in the back of the car, hidden amongst all of the junk while their parents sit up front. The two brothers would try to pass the time by reading comic books, trying their best to block out the Christmas music Mrs. Frog would blare as she sang along, occasionally with the words of a different song. This trip has always been painful and seemed to last much longer than two hours, especially when they were younger.

Edgar can still remember those two grueling hours through the eyes of a six year old; the over powering mess in the back seat, his mother's off key singing, his father's wobbly driving, which was all so funny until the boys became old enough to realize Daddy wasn't doing it to just be fun. Edgar had learned how to read that year, a skill that he proudly possessed as his brother could not yet read, thus making him the better and more advanced child. He had read the captions in the comic books to his brother, improvising the words he could not make out, while Alan looked at the pictures, leaning in so close that their heads were nearly touching. Alan had a cold that year, Edgar remembered, and was breathing heavily through his open mouth, his hot breath tickling Edgar's skin. The sound of his brother's breathing had annoyed Edgar, and he fidgeted away, scratching where Alan's breath hit.

When they had finally arrived at Aunt Katherine's home, she quickly ushered the boys in, leaving their parents to carry in their belongings. She shook her head and made disapproving comments of how the boys' messy appearance and improperly dressed for the time of the year. Mrs. Frog had followed in after them, scowling and saying they were just fine; Edgar and Alan can pick out their own clothes and it was a waste to clean them since little boys becoming dirty is inevitable. In a matter of hours, Aunt Katherine had her nephews transformed into two beautiful, clean looking boys; bathed, snot free and dressed in seasonally appropriate outfits, which she said to call early Christmas presents. She would make sure they were always were well fed and had plenty of toys to play with, a luxury they did not get to experience often at home. There were bedtime stories and good-night kisses; everything they needed to momentarily be normal, everything their mother detested as she believed it would only spoil her children.

That Christmas Eve Aunt Katherine had given each brother a Christmas themed colouring book to keep them busy while she and her daughters prepared dinner. Edgar and Alan were sprawled out on the white shag living room carpet, coloring in pictures of Santa and snowmen. "Edgar," Alan had said while he whipped his runny nose on the back of his little hand. "Why is Mommy our Mommy and not Aunt Katherine?"

Edgar looked over at his brother. He hated it when Alan would ask these sorts of questions. "She just is."

Alan breathed in deep, trying to suck back up the snot dripping from his nose. "Why?"

"Because Mommy is our mom and Aunt Katherine is our aunt."

"But why?"

"I don't know." Edgar began to wonder why too, in spite of himself. "That's just how it is." Alan sniffled again, but did not say anymore.

Edgar still ponders of that question; how was it that Aunt Katherine came to be only an aunt while he and his brother were stuck with a drug addicted, absent minded mother. It was all a matter of genetics, of course. It could all be so easily explained in a simple Biology lesson. Or did it have more to do with fate, Edgar wonders. He wonders what his life would have been like if Aunt Katherine had actually been their mother. He would have a set bedtime and family meals. He would not have to work unless he chose to and he would have to worry about school instead of bills. His cousins would become his siblings and Alan would still be alive. They would not be living in a city crawling with murderers, and even though they were not living Santa Carla, Alan would not be allowed to walk alone at night. He would have no reason to since there would be no comic book shop to close up; he probably would have been in bed, safe and asleep. Life would have been much simpler if Aunt Katherine had been their mother, but would it be better? Edgar cannot make up his mind on that.

When they arrive at Aunt Katherine's, this time without Alan, Edgar is greeted in the usual manner. He is quickly pulled inside, leaving his parents while his aunt fusses over him. "Oh, Edgar, it is so nice to see you again! Look at how tall you are getting!" she exclaims as she hugs her nephew.

The greeting stage is not over yet; Edgar still has to make it through his cousins. His uncle and his only male cousin, Elliot, quickly say hello before going out to help Mr. and Mrs. Frog with their bags.

"Eddie!"

Edgar shudders at the sound of his cousin's screeching voice. Sarah; this is the part where he needed Alan. In the years before, Edgar was usually able to pass his brother off to their crazy and overly exuberant cousin Sarah, snickering while Alan's expression as he was pulled into a bone crushing hug. Now Edgar must suffer alone.

He braces himself as Sarah pulls him into a hug, closing his eyes, waiting for this to be over with. "How are you?" his cousin asks. "Are you sad? You look sad. You look like you haven't been eating well enough." Edgar clenches his jaw in frustration and half expects to hear one of his ribs crack from the pressure of Sarah's embrace.

Another cousin steps into view; Julia, she is older than Sarah as well as taller and slightly thinner. She used to push Edgar and Alan on the backyard swings and was much more patient than her sister when it came to dealing with the boys. She was always kind to Edgar and Alan, but became less affectionate as they grew older. "Sarah, would you get off of him," Julia says. She speaks in her flat, solemn tone, a sharp contrast from her sister's bouncy voice. She takes Edgar from Sarah and hugs him much tighter than she has in years. "You look just fine, sweetie. I'm glad you decided to come."

Aunt Katherine fallows Mrs. Frog into the house. "It's nice to see you again, dear."

Mrs. Frog scowls. There goes that sister of hers again, always trying to play the role of the perfect sister and hostess. Can she not just enjoy being a real person instead of some society conforming machine? Mrs. Frog mumbles a reply as she drops her bags to the floor. She watches Edgar being coddled by his cousins, which is obviously making him feel uncomfortable. The corners of her lips twitch in what could be considered the beginning of a smile. Oh Edgar; they are so much alike, much more than he realizes. She has always enjoyed having him around, not that she favorites him. Mrs. Frog would never do that; she loves both of her boys equally. It is just that Edgar is more pleasant to have around. But Alan was different; he could make her feel so weary sometimes. Edgar would do fine on his own, but Alan was so needy and attention seeking. There were days when she could not stand his clinginess and constant attempts for hugs when she clearly not in the mood for it. It was draining, and luckily for Mrs. Frog, he eventually grew out of the phase. Alan always questioning and staring, too; that child was always trying to figure things out. There were times when he would stare and Mrs. Frog would actually feel fear. Imagine that; being afraid of your own child! There was something lurking in those dark eyes of his, so wide and filled with wonder that sometimes she felt he was trying to reach the depths of her soul, hungrily searching for answers.

Alan could never accept things as easily as his brother. Even once he received an answer to his question, he would want to know more. He was always thinking, always asking strange questions. There was a time when Mrs. Frog had gone to pick her son up from preschool and Alan was doing that odd staring thing of his, carefully watching his classmates as they left the school with their own parents. As they walked out of the school, Alan asked another one of his questions. "Mommy," he said. "Why don't you love me and Edgar like all of those other mommies love their children?"

Mrs. Frog frowned. Where does that boy come up with such foolish things? "What are you talking about, Alan? Of course I love you; you know that."

"Y-Yes, Mommy, but it's different."

"Well, you don't want me to be like all of those other mommies."

"Why?"

"They are ruining their children, you see. All of that coddling and fussing is only going to cripple them when they are older. And that is not love, at least not good love. A loving mother would give her children the opportunity to do things on their own. And that is what I do; give you independence!"

Alan blinked as he tried to take in the information in. "But if it is bad, Mommy, then why do they do it?"

"That is just how it is, Alan," Mrs. Frog says with a sigh. "Stop asking so many questions. It makes you sound stupid."

But she loved Alan despite his odd questions and draining behaviors. She still loves him, and misses him just the same. He was her baby, her strange little boy. At least there is still Edgar. Who knows what how she would have survived if the tables had been turned and it was Alan standing with her today.

"How are you holding up?" Aunt Katherine asks.

Mrs. Frog's eyes water at the question. "How do you think?" she snaps.

"It's alright, dear." Katherine pats her sister on the back, trying her best to offer her a sign of comfort. "It's alright; Alan is in a better place."

Mrs. Frog sharply turns from Aunt Katherine's attempt of kindness. "The fuck he is!"

Edgar watches as his mother storms off to another room. Her first fight with Aunt Katherine; it is officially Christmas.

_Edgar, why is Mommy our mommy?_

He still doesn't know.

* * *

Sam had wanted Edgar to stay with the Emerson family for Christmas. Star and Laddie were expected, so he knew he will probably be spending most of the time alone. Sam loved Christmas, he still does but this year was going to be different. It will be the first without his dad. He had tried calling him earlier in the day, but his father said that he was busy and would call later as soon as he can. Three hours have passed, and Sam still waits, lying on the couch by the phone. Normally he does not like waiting like this, being so desperate, but he is feeling lonely today and needs some sort of communication from when his life was alright.

He wonders what Edgar is doing, if he is enjoying Christmas Eve at his aunt's house. Probably not; he was most likely feeling more miserable than Sam. The day before he left, Edgar stopped by so that he could exchange gifts with Sam. He briefly spoke of his family and by the sound of it did not seem all too thrilled by visiting them. Part of the reason why Edgar did not to visit his family was because he would have to leave Santa Carla and leaving Santa Carla also means leaving Alan behind. Dead or living, he did not want his brother to be alone. Sam promised him that they would stop by, giving Edgar's mind some peace. He was already planning on it; Sam had purchased everyone a Christmas gift, including Alan. It was not much, just something that would be suitable for a gravesite but he did not want to leave Alan out. He wishes that there could have been at least one real Christmas with his friend so that he would have had the chance to get him a better gift than the poor substitute. Sam had given Edgar a rather large vile of holy water that he had smuggled out of a church. Holy water is a necessity for vampire hunting, one that Edgar was often low on now that the holy water is closely monitored when he is in a church.

Sam sighs. This will be Edgar's first Christmas without Alan; just the thought of it brings tears to his eyes. He cannot imagine celebrating the holiday without Michael. Sam buries his face into a throw pillow, trying to bring his mind back to the warm days of summer.

Michael walks into the living room, looking for his little brother. He finds Sam on the couch with his face covered by a pillow. "Are you still waiting for Dad?" Sam shakes his head, not bothering to remove the pillow. "He's probably just busy." Sam does not respond. Michael sighs and joins him on the couch, wedging himself between Sam and the cushions and pulls Sam close, spooning him. "Come on, Sammy; it's Christmas. Be happy."

Sam grumbles, shifting in his brother's embrace. Michael tightens his grip. "Please, Sammy? Everyone will be over soon."

"Fine. I'll go somewhere else so I don't spoil your Christmas," Sam says, moving to escape.

Michael pulls him back. "No, I want you to be happy. What's wrong?"

"Everything."  
Michael sighs into Sam's hair. He notices that he has not bothered to put any gel in it. "I know. But you don't have to be sad all of the time."

"Are you?"

"What? Sad?" Michael asks. Sam nods. "Sure."

"About Mom and Dad?"

"Sometimes, I guess."

"About Alan?"

"Yeah, a lot."

Sam pauses. "What did you think when you first met him."

"That he was crazy. They were both crazy."

"Me too," Sam says. "But he was cool. Do you remember the one time when Edgar and Alan stayed over and I had them convinced that you were possibly still half vampire, and when you were still sleeping, we made Alan go in there and spray you with holy water to see if it would burn you?"

Michael remembers. He had gotten back home late and was rudely awoken by a splash of cold water on his face. He opened his eyes to Alan standing by his bed with a water gun in hand, studying Michael with a slightly nervous expression. Edgar was in the background, ready to attack, with Sam beside him, grinning like a fool. Michael quickly caught on to the boys' plan and with a fake scowl, quickly attacked Alan, pulling him onto the bed. The other two boys, panicked by Michael's faux rage, retreated downstairs, leaving Alan behind. "And you and Edgar ran away screaming."

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling now. "And you came down the stairs holding Alan hostage."

"I knew wasn't his idea, though. Only you or Edgar would be stupid enough to come up with it. Alan was just easier to con into doing it."

"He only did because Edgar kept saying no, even though he wanted to test you. But, hey, it was funny. The best part was when we didn't give in and you tried to torture Alan by ticking him. He didn't even move."

"I thought that he'd maybe be at least a little ticklish. I was surprised he didn't try to hit me or something."

"Yeah, he didn't like being touched."

Michael thinks of Alan then, Alan lying tied up on a bed as a large hand gently strokes his tear streaked face, gliding down to his ribs and feeling the area that Michael had so innocently touched. He shudders at the thought. But now is not the time to remember Alan in such a horrific way. It's Christmas, he needs to be remembered how he was before all of that; sleeping over the Emerson house, safe, instead of being in the bed of some monster.

The doorbell rings, but the brothers remain on the couch, silent. Michael is too preoccupied with taking in this moment with Sam. He can feel Sam's breathing and heartbeat against his chest. His little brother is alive; Michael has never felt more grateful. The bell rings a second time. "Is anyone going to get that?" Lucy calls from the kitchen.

"Come on," Michael says, pulling both himself and Sam up. "Our guests are here." Sam hesitates before following his brother to the door. Star and Laddie have arrived, each carrying gifts.

"Merry Christmas!" Star exclaims once the door is finally answered. She quickly kisses Michael on the cheek before passing the packages off to him. "We went a little overboard with the presents. Laddie wanted to make sure no one got left out."

"How are you, Sammy?" Star asks, giving him a quick hug.

Sam manages to for a decent smile. "I'm alright."

Star smiles back, though she does not fully believe him. "That's good. Did you get a chance to see Edgar before he left?"

"Yeah, he came over a couple of days ago. We gave him your present."

"Oh, good! Did open it?"

Sam shakes his head. Lucy enters the living room with a plate of Christmas cookies in hand. "I hope you all are hungry. I think I made a little too much this year." Laddie carefully examines the colourfully frosted treats, not sure if he should take one. "You can have whichever one you like," Lucy says to the boy, smiling. Laddie glances up and quickly snatches a star shaped cookie. "Are you excited about tonight?" Laddie nods as he quietly nibbles on an edge.

"Yeah, Santa comes tonight," Sam says.

A frown forms on the boy's small face. "There is no Santa."

"What?" Sam's expression goes into fake shock. "What are you talking about? Of course there is a Santa!"

Laddie shakes his head, feeling unsure if he should take the teen seriously. "You believe in Santa still?"

"Of course I do! Only cool people believe in Santa; that's why we get more presents."

"But it's just a story."

"Nah! That was just a rumor started by some people that were bitter that they got put on the naughty list."

Laddie looks up at Star, silently asking for help. "Sam, stop," Lucy says. Her voice is firm but there is a smile on her face. This is the liveliest she has seen her son since Edgar has left. "You're confusing him."

"Fine, but tomorrow morning we will see who got the most presents from Santa."

* * *

It is Christmas Eve and the hunter is spending yet another holiday with his sister. A week before, Kim had insisted on decorating the house. Against her brother's wishes, she had drug out all of the holiday decorations she could find and strew them about the house in a mix matched fashion. It is her house, after all, she should be able to decorate how she likes, especially if she is letting her dumb ass brother stay and bring his whores here.

The hunter sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. He looks about the room, shaking his head at the mess his sister has made. There is barely a space left empty of some sort of festively tacky decoration. Clearly homemaking is not a talent his sister possesses. "Did you see you made the paper?" Kim asks. The hunter looks over at her as he takes a sip of coffee. What is that mad woman talking about now? His sister giggles. "They managed to make you even uglier than you already are!"

He snatches the paper from his sister's hands and scans the page. The entire second page has been dedicated to a story focusing on his rabbit's murder, titled "Please find my killer". His rabbit smiles up at him from a photograph taken nearly a year ago. A faint smile appears on the man's lips as he runs a finger of over the young boy's picture; his rabbit was so beautiful when he smiled, almost as beautiful as when tears streamed down his face. The hunter skims through the article, finding little interest in it. It is a rather boring piece, mostly of a detective practically begging for help. He even left a phone number where people can call in for tips. Near the end, the detective talks of a man that may be a person of interest and also includes an amateur sketch of the possible suspect. The hunter grins; it is an alright drawing, decent enough but not nothing that should cause him any worry. The man in the article fit a good portion of the middle aged Santa Carla population; no one will be able to pick him out.

"Do you know where the scissors are?"

"In one of the drawers. Go find them yourself, you lazy ass."

The hunter chuckles to himself, thinking about the sketch, as he gets up from his seat. He finds a pair of scissors in a drawer amongst an assortment of buttons and measuring cups. "You should learn some better organizational skills," he tells his sister.

"If you don't like it, then you can find your own fucking house."

The hunter returns to the table, grinning. He takes the newspaper and carefully sets his scissors in place. A new article and a new picture of his rabbit for the scrap book; it is going to be a good Christmas.

"Did you wrap the presents yet?" Kim asked.

"What presents?"

"For me and for Buttons."

The hunter pauses his cutting and looks up at his sister. "You bought yourself a present?"

"It's from Buttons. He is the only person that would."

"That cat is not a person," he says, shaking his head. "Besides, I already got you something."

"You did?" Her eyes light up and it reminds the hunter of when he and his sister were both kids. Christmas had been a peaceful time at their household, one of the few when their father was sober and present and their mother was not a twittering mess. It was a day of magic and the hunter still tries to keep it that way for his sister.

"I always do," he says.

"Did you get Buttons anything?"

The hunter sighs as he finishes removing the article. "Yes, Buttons too. How could I even forget that thing of yours? I suppose you didn't get me anything."

"You never told me what you wanted."

"I don't want anything." Well, he did but there was no chance of ever getting it. It was long gone by now; just a pile of decomposing bones in the ground.

Kim looks at her brother, noticing the way he is staring at the photograph of that cry-baby slut. "You shouldn't have killed it if you wanted it so bad," she says. "If you want, I can go pick up some other brat for you."

"It's not the same. Besides, you know I had to kill him."

"I didn't like the little whore, but having him around would be better than you sulking all of the time. I could have put up with it; we could have been some fucked up little family."

The hunter smiles, shaking his head at his sister. "I don't think you could have handled it."

"I probably could if you two weren't so loud. It was difficult to watch my shows with you making those noises and his bawling."

"He couldn't help it; he was an emotional child."

"That sounds completely fucked up."

"He wanted it. The hunter says scowls. He moves the paper on the table top, readjusting it so it will sit straight. "You should have seen him earlier. I can't help it if people practically handed him over to me."

"I know," his sister says softly.

"It's not like any of them cared. No one wanted him until after he was dead; even when he was missing no one wanted him. But then someone finally makes love for him and they all get in an uproar, and only once they figured out they were wrong." The hunter shakes his head. "People are always trying to blame everyone else for their mistakes."

Kim pauses, waiting for her brother to cool down from his rant. "What did you get buttons."

The hunter looks over at his sister and almost smiles. "You are something else."

* * *

Mrs. Frog's outburst was only the first of many more to come. In a house with so many females with strong personalities, this was not unpredictable. This happened every year; Mrs. Frog and Aunt Katherine would get into multiple arguments, more often over parenting styles and Edgar's cousins, Julia and Sarah, would partake in more subtle fights, quietly nitpicking each other with snide little comments. In a way Edgar finds comfort in this; this is normal. Everyone sits in the living room Christmas Eve night just as they have every year before; chatting about things he does not personally have any interest in. Edgar watches Sarah as she fumbles with the keys on an old piano. He wishes that Alan was here, sitting beside him instead of his uncle. The two brothers would quietly converse with each other, laughing at their cousin's attempt at the piano.

Sarah pauses in her playing, resting her fingers on the keys. "I miss Alan," she says. She waits for someone to say something, to give her some words of comfort. When no one answers her, Sarah goes on talking. "I still can't believe someone killed him."

"Sarah," Julia says as she turns a page from the book she is reading. "Let's not talk about this."

Sarah scowls at her sister. "I know you may not care about Alan but the rest of us miss him and-."

"What are you trying to say?" Julia interrupts. She sets the book down on her lap. "How can you even say that? I love Alan just as much as you do. He was always afraid of you."

"He was not!"

"You can even ask Edgar; they were both afraid of you."

Edgar shifts uncomfortably, not wanting to get into this conversation. "Girls, please stop this," Aunt Katherine snaps. "It's Christmas; it is not time for your cat fights."

"Well, I'm sorry for bringing up our baby cousin," Sarah says with tear filled eyes. "Everyone else may want to forget him, but-."

Julia interrupts again. "Oh, would you shut up and stop trying to make this about you. No one wants to forget about Alan; we just don't want to think about happened to him."

"But we never talk about it-."

"And we don't need to."

"How are we going to ever move on if we never talk about it?"

"Girls," Aunt Katherine repeats. "I told you to stop. I am fine with talking about Alan, but I will not listen about him dying or listen to you two fight over him." Sarah pushes a key on the piano but says nothing more.

Edgar looks over at his father, who sits off to the side in a chair, distancing himself from his in-laws. Mr. Frog is in his own world, lost in his thoughts. He was momentarily brought out from them at the sound of his son's name, grief raw and evident in his eyes but quickly disappears without notice as he retreats back to his mind. He cannot stand that name and the torture it brings. He has spent hours upon hours building up his wall to keep it out, but it is no use; each time that word is uttered another crack forms into that wall, slowly tearing down the new world he has been creating.

Despite what some people think, Mr. Frog does miss his son. He has always cared about his children, he cared about them so much that it drove him away. Mr. Frog feared his children, you see. He was not afraid that they would hurt them; he feared what may happen to them if he manages to get too close. He knew that children are very breakable, just a touch could shatter their small, frail bodies, and Mr. Frog did not want to do that. Often when he would look at his children he would imagine himself accidently injure them, crushing their skulls so that their brains oozed out like jelly. It was a silly notion, he knew; a ridiculous thought because though children are quite breakable, it would not be that easy to do so. But still he feared them for he did not want to damage his boys.

So Mr. Frog kept his distance. He would watch them from afar, always anticipating the worst. The only time he dared to get close was at night when they were sleeping. Though his wife had long ditched the habit of checking in on the boys while they slept, Mr. Frog continued to do so. He would go into their room and make sure that they were still breathing. He would watch them sleep, occasionally feeling daring enough to reach out and lightly touch them. One night, less than a week before Alan's kidnapping, he had done this, and while he carefully ran a hand through the boy's hair, Alan had woken. Panic rushed through Mr. Frog's body as his son's eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking sleepily up at his father. It lasted only a moment, only a few seconds, before Alan closed his eyes and went back to sleep without saying a word. Mr. Frog quickly left, not bothering to look back. He nor Alan would not mention that moment the next day or any of their last days together. The next time he would see his son sleeping would be at his wake; eyes closed and still in a coffin. It was then that Mr. Frog realized how much older Alan looked, how much time has passed without him realizing it and there he was standing in front of his dead child's coffin. Alan had been murdered and he, once again, was not there to protect him. Mr. Frog left without saying a word, heading for the bathroom to throw up.

* * *

In mid afternoon on Christmas day, once all presents were opened and most early festivities came to an end, the Emerson family decides to take a trip to the cemetery. Though Sam had been there only a month ago, he still feels nervous about seeing Alan's headstone. But despite the sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, Sam would go just as he had promised Edgar he would. Sam looks out the car window, trying to get as much space between Laddie and himself. They managed to cram all five people in the car and though Sam does not usually mind being close to others, he is feeling rather claustrophobic.

Once everyone gets out, Sam looks around, keeping an eye out for the magician. They had seen him last time and he was hoping to see him again. Last week a detective came around with a sketch of a possible suspect. Sam had recognized it as the magician right away, but denied it after Edgar elbowed him, later saying that he would tell him why later. There is no magician today, though. They are the only people there.

"Are you alright?" Michael asks as they walk over to Alan's headstone. Sam nods. He just wants to get this over with.

Lucy plants another bouquet of plastic flowers into the cold ground. Laddie sets a small angel statue at the foot of the stone. He had picked it out on a shopping trip and was rather proud of his decision. He looks up at Star, seeking her approval. "It's beautiful," Star says, smiling. "I'm sure Alan appreciates it." She glances at Michael. "Are you ok?"

Michael does not look at her. He keeps his eyes on glossy stone. "I can't believe it's been four months. It does not seem that long."

"Yeah." Star leans up against him, resting her head on the crook of Michael's shoulder. "It doesn't seem that long."

The group stands in silence. Sam has distanced himself from Michael this time, not wanting to be comforted by anyone. He chews on his tongue, something to distract him as he tries to hold everything back. He wishes he could be as strong as Edgar when it comes to these sorts of things. He is too emotional, and being so is not helping. Sam does not want to cry anymore, at least not in front of other people. "Is everyone ready to go?" Lucy asks.

"We probably should," Star says.

"Merry Christmas, Alan," Laddie says quietly. Star looks down at him and smiles as tears begin to fill her eyes. She takes Laddie's hand and gives it a quick squeeze. The others tell Alan the same. They have done what they came for; it is time to leave.

"Sam, are you coming?" Lucy asks. Michael turns around, leaving Star and Laddie to walk to the car by themselves, and waits for his little brother.

"I," Sam begins to say but falters. He pauses a moment, taking in a deep breath in attempt to compose himself. "Can I have a minute?"

"Sure, honey. Do you want us to wait for you?"

Sam shakes his head. No, he wants to be alone. He watches as his family walks away, waiting until they are far enough before he turns back to Alan's headstone. He tries to think of something to say, but no words come to mind. He plays with the zipper on his jacket, waiting for something to come. "This is kind of awkward," Sam says to the headstone. He hesitates a moment before speaking again. "It's kind of like I am talking to myself, and only crazy people do that, you know."

No other words come. Sam sighs and looks over at the car; everyone is waiting for him, he needs to be quick. "I really wish you were here instead of, you know, dead. This is all pretty fucked up." He bites his lower lip. He can feel the tears coming back, those relentless tears that have refused to let him be for these long four months. "Anyway, I got you something." Sam fumbles in his pocket, searching for something. "I know it's stupid and you can't really use it, but I guess it's the thought that counts." He pulls out a green coloured rock with the word "hope" inscribed on it. "I know it's super cheesy and you are probably laughing at me for this, but I heard some people leave rocks at graves as some memorial thing." He kneels down, coming into eye contact with the headstone, and sets the rock next to the angel. Sam remains still as a thousand thoughts fly about his mind.

"Merry Christmas, bud."

* * *

**Yay, Christmas! Well, not really since everyone is sad. Everyone besides the hunter, I guess; he's having a pretty good Christmas. I should stop writing this now and go to bed. Unfortunately I have school tomorrow, which I do enjoy but I just want to sleep in! I miss sleep; it's such a wonderful thing that I take for granted. Thank you again to all the people who read and review this! I apologize for this blehness this update. **


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The Hunter

Chapter Eighteen

For once in his life, Edgar is looking forward to staying in Santa Carla. Spending five days trapped at his aunt's house was more than enough to make even the nastiest of cities look inviting. He left receiving multiple hugs from all three cousins, who were much more attentive and affectionate compared to past visit. Julia had told him to call her anytime he needed him and Sarah quickly agreed with more enthusiasm, adding she will try to call more often to check in. Edgar does not plan on calling either of them.

As soon as he unpacked, Edgar called Sam and made plans to meet up. Edgar sits in the living room of his house, waiting for Sam and Michael to show up. He bounces his heels onto the floor, his mind heavy with thoughts. Ever since he has seen that magician, thinking is the only thing Edgar seems to be able to do. He now has his prey and location; all that he needs now is a good plan to pull off his vengeance. It should be easy, Edgar assumes. All it takes is one bullet, two to make sure just as Sam's crazy grandpa had said. His father has a gun and Edgar knows where it is. He has not used it before, but he assumes it cannot be too hard to use. Finding a way into the magician's house will be the difficult part.

Mrs. Frog walks into the room, her footsteps long and heavy. She looks about with hazy eyes. She pauses at the couch where Edgar is sitting, and for a moment she sees her son, a brief after image of Alan lounging on the couch next to Edgar. He had turned to her, staring at her with those dark eyes that had haunted Mrs. Frog even in life. It was quick, only a fraction of a moment, and once she blinked, Alan had vanished from her again. Edgar looks at his mother, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion at her gawking. Mrs. Frog shakes her head and brings herself back into reality. "Did you have a nice Christmas?" she asks.

Edgar checks the window; still no car. "No."

"Didn't you enjoy seeing everyone?

"No. They are all fucking nuts."

It had not been a good Christmas, not for Edgar or anyone else in his family. No matter what they tried to do, however merry it was, there was always an undertone of melancholy knowing that Alan was not there. Even after Aunt Katherine had ordered his cousins to stop their fighting the torment continued. Edgar suffered the rest of the night, struggling though listening to Christmas stories, a tradition where his uncle Jerry would read many holiday related stories to the rest of the family. Edgar knew that Alan had always enjoyed this part, even if it was the same stories year after year. Alan liked being read to, something their parents rarely ever did; the sound would calm him and made him feel less lonely, and Edgar knew that his brother could easily sink into such ways. The two brothers were nearly always together, but there were times when Edgar could see the blank, nearly sad look in Alan's eyes. Though he would never admit it, Alan longed for affection in such a desperate way and it was something that Edgar could not easily provide and their parents never would.

Edgar suffered through _The Night Before Christmas_, moving restlessly as he thought of Alan, how his brother was comfortable to lean up against him, resting his head against Edgar's shoulder. Edgar would protest and try to shrug Alan away, but Alan would grab onto him and pull him closer until Edgar finally gave in. They also read the story of the little matchstick girl. Aunt Katherine had to leave then, being too emotional to stand hearing the entire story. Edgar could barely stand it himself. He did not like this story, not even from the years before. When they read this, Alan would always ask, whispering, "How do you think it will end?"

"You know how it ends. We listen to this stupid story every year."

But Alan would ask even though he knew the ending. The little matchstick girl would die in the streets, alone and frozen in winter's grasp. This is why Edgar does not like this story; it is much too sad, especially for during what is supposed to be a joyful holiday. When the story was over, Alan would be still and his eyes far off, lost in thoughts of the lonely, frozen girl. On the night of their last Christmas Eve together, Edgar and Alan laid jammed into a bed, keeping their backs facing each other. Edgar was on the fringe of sleep when Alan said, "I wish she didn't die."

"Who?" Edgar had mumbled sleepily.

"The matchstick girl; the one in the story."

Edgar, being exhausted and not in the mood to talk, sighed into his pillow. "It's just a story, Alan. Besides, everyone dies."

"I know, but I still wish she didn't die."

"I wish that you would be quiet so that I could sleep."

Alan said nothing more after that. Edgar knew his brother's loneliness was back; he could feel it. Edgar felt guilty then. He turned to face Alan. "You know I love you, though."

"I know," Alan replied quietly. "I love you too. I guess."

"You guess?"

Alan moved so that they were lying facing each other. "Yeah."

Edgar could tell that his brother was smiling, even through the pitch dark; it was evident in his voice. "Go to sleep now. I'm tired and we're going to need all of the fucking energy we can get if we're going to survive tomorrow."

Now, back in the living room of his home, Edgar once again thought of the little matchstick girl and of his brother. They are both so lonely and so dead; Edgar misses them both. He hears a car pull up and Edgar looks out the window, spotting Sam and Michael pulling into the driveway. He quickly rises to his feet and grabs his backpack off of the floor. "Where are you going?" Mrs. Frog asks as Edgar heads for the front door.

"Sam's."

"But we just got home. Don't you want to be with your family?"

"No," Edgar says, pulling the door open. "We already did that at Christmas. I'm done with family. Bye."

* * *

Sam has almost never seen his mother upset. It was a rarity, even when she could have been rightfully mad like when it came to Sam and Michael's high jinks or things pretending to her ex-husband. Only once did Sam witness his mother in pure anger. It was quick, probably by accident since Lucy tried her best to keep these sorts of things away from her sons. Not long after they moved in, Grandpa had installed a television set to please his grandchildren. It was not used often, though. The only times the television was on when Lucy and Grandpa wanted to catch the nightly news. One night Sam had sat with his mother, watching the news. A story of Alan came on and for once Lucy did not turn the channel. Sam vaguely listened as the news caster recapped the details of Alan's murder. All Sam could focus on was the couple of pictures of his friend that was appeared on screen. He heard the words "raped" and "mutilated" and "asphyxiation". They did not seem to match the pictures. He thought of that one strange girl, Anne, and wondered if she was watching this too. Then Lucy spoke, right after the newscaster said something about Alan being strangled to death by a homemade garrote in what appears to be some sort of pedophile sex ritual.

"People are animals," Lucy had said. Sam looked at her feeling slightly confused. It did not sound like his mother. She had never spoken so bitterly, even to his father during arguments.

They never spoke of it again, though, and the next day when the paper featured an article similar to the newscast, Lucy quickly disposed of it. The only thing they ever saved was Alan's obituary. All articles related to the murder were tossed away. When his mother was not looking, Sam retrieved the article from the garbage. He cut out the picture of the sketch done of the suspect, figuring it would probably be something he and Edgar may need later. He also saved Alan's picture, though he was not sure what he was going to do with it. But the sketch would come in handy, and he hoped Edgar will soon tell him why they were not allowed to speak of it with the detectives.

The two sit in Sam's room, both at opposite ends of Sam's bed. Neither has said anything since arriving at the house and Sam is itching to bring up the sketch. "I don't know if you have seen this," he says, leaning over the side of his bed, reaching for a book on his nightstand where he has stored the article clippings out of his mother's sight. "But this was in the paper a couple of days ago. Edgar takes the picture from Sam and examines it. "There was more to the article," Sam says, "but I didn't think we needed it; it was mostly that detective talking. Speaking of which, why did you hit me last week when he asked about that drawing."

Edgar remains quiet, debating on what he should tell Sam. "I know where he lives."

"What? The detective?"

"No, the magician. I saw him a couple of weeks ago when I was going home. He lives a few blocks away."

"No way."

Edgar nods.

"Are you sure it was the same guy?"

"Yeah. He was even in that same janky car we saw at the cemetery."

"But that means." Sam pauses. "That means Alan was close."

"I know."

"What are we going to do now?"

"Kill him," Edgar says without emotion. What other options does he have? It is what the bastard deserves.

"I don't know, Edgar." Sam is hesitant now. Sure he wants justice for Alan, but this does not sound right. "Don't you think this sounds something like the police should handle."

"No."

"But we can't kill him."

"Why not? He killed Alan."

"But we're not talking about going after vampires here," Sam says. "This is a human; you can go to jail for killing humans, even if they are murderers."

"You don't have to help," Edgar says, scowling as he picks at the cover of Sam's bed. "I can do it on my own."

Sam sighs to himself. "Do you even know what you are going to do yet?"

"No, but I can figure it out. It can't be that hard."

* * *

The hunter knows that he is being watched. Ever since that one terrible night, he has not been able to escape those blue eyes. It is all he can dream of now; sobbing rabbits and accusing blue eyes. He hates them, those eyes and the boys they belong to. He is not too fond of the other brother as well. The hunter still sees them from afar regularly while he is out in town; two brothers walking about, the younger always searching for something. The hunter knows that it is him.

It would be simple to rid of the boy. The hunter could easily snatch the child away while the brother has his back turned and have his way with the boy until he accomplishes his vengeance. He could bring both brothers home, too; teach them both to not mess with a hunter. The hunter could tie the elder up, leaving him to witness the torture of his baby brother. He will start by gouging out the boy's eyes, finally freeing himself from their blue depths. While he struggles, his screams ringing out freely, the hunter will rape the empty eye sockets as the brother watches, helpless, as that precious little brother meets his demise. When it is over and the little one has finally bled to death, the hunter will shoot the brother, making sure that he is dead too. It sounds like the perfect plan to him; just wonderful! Oh how he wishes it were so! How he wishes they were gone and he would be free without carrying an ounce of worry. They know too much, and with that police sketch floating about the public, the hunter is no longer completely safe. Something must be done.

The hunter lounges on his bed, flipping through his notebook, trying to ease his stress. He reads over his plans, some cruelly unable to be fulfilled now, and notes on his rabbit. He kept a very specific diary of sightings, making sure to get the exact time and location. It had been a fun process; stalking down his prey. Most events took place in the comic shop where the hunter would study the boy from a distance unknowingly to the rabbit or his brother. He made detailed recollections of his time with the rabbit; every feeling of the young, lean body, who the child cried out for when the hunter forcibly had intercourse with him. He reads over one particularly fond even that took place when the boy had thrown up all over after a failed attempt at performing oral sex. The hunter brought him into the shower; turning up the heat so that is became so steamy Alan had trouble keeping his breath. As the hunter washed the small body, he felt the urges coming back at full force. He laid Alan down onto the smooth floor of the tub, smiling to himself as the child whimpered beneath him. He leaned down and began attacking the soft flesh of the boy's neck. Alan struggled to keep his face out of the falling droplets of water. The hunter took notice to his discomfort and quickly kissed the boy, blocking the falling water.

"Tell me," the hunter said as he slowly drove himself into the child's body. Alan let out a gasp, leaving his mouth hanging open and back slightly arched into the hurt. The hunter leaned in closer, capturing the gaping mouth, running his tongue against the boy's. He gently bites Alan's lower lip, sucking on it a little before releasing him. "If you had done well and if I had let you go, who would you have called?"

Alan gasped in pain once more as the man thrust into him again. The hunter shuddered at the sound of it. Such a sexy little rabbit he had; it is a wonder no one had done this before him. "My brother," Alan managed to get out.

"Edgar?" The boy nodded. "How do you suppose he would do that?" the hunter asked. "Take you home on this bike? I can assume that will not be very comfortable, especially once we're done. I suppose he could get your parents, but I think we both know how that would turn out."

Alan fidgeted under the man. He knew that he was right. "Michael; he- he has a car."

"Who is Michael?"

"M-My friend's brother."

"Oh, him." The hunter chuckled. He remembered him, the dark haired young man from the night of the magic show. He had acted rather cocky around the hunter then, laughing at the pathetic stand and showed off his closeness to the rabbit, casually ruffling the boy's hair to taunt the hunter. That Michael was not laughing now, though. The hunter had taken possession of the rabbit; he had won. "Do you actually believe that he would ever come for you?" Alan nodded and the man laughed again. "Oh, sweet-heart, you are only fooling with yourself. I doubt his kid brother's strange, little friend has even crossed his mind."

"He would," Alan said softly.

"No, darling, he won't. Don't you think someone as big and as strong as Michael would have already saved you by now? He doesn't want you. He doesn't care about you; none of them do." The hunter watched as the boy's lower lip began to tremble. He grinned cruelly, revealing his sharp teeth. "But don't worry, sweetie! I still want you."

Such fond memories! And now they are the only things the hunter has left to hold onto; few, wonderful moments with his rabbit. He sighs to himself as he turns a page of his journal. It's not fair; they should have had more time together.

The hunter feels the mattress sink down next to him. He glances over and sees his sister's monstrous cat, Buttons, sitting, watching him. "What are you doing here?" The black and white animal lazily blinks his golden eyes in reply, a smug looking expression pasted on its furry face. The hunter frowns. He does not like this animal and cannot understand how his sister can love it so much. It did nothing but create messes, leaving its thick fur all over the house, and get in the way.

After the hunter had strangled his rabbit, he had gone to take a shower to help calm his mind. When he returned he found the massive feline curled up to the lifeless body. As the hunter drew near, Buttons cracked open an eye and carefully watched as the man drew near. It let out a low growl when the hunter moved to touch the boy. He waited a moment, staring at the cat as he lowered a hand and placed it on the still chest. The cat released a furious hiss as the hunter began to put Alan's jeans back on the corpse.

"Oh, would you shut up," the hunter said.

Buttons replied with another low, guttural growl, its eyes narrowed in discontent. The hunter leans over the body and tries to push the large animal off of the bed. "Get out of here," he ordered. It hissed again, taking a few swipes at the hunter with its oversized paw as it was pushed to the edge of the mattress. Without grace, Buttons fell onto the floor, barely managing to catch its footing. It looked up at the hunter, still glaring with furious, golden eyes.

The hunter climbed onto the bed and pulled the limp body into his arms, resting the boy's head against his chest. The garrote, still attached, dangled freely from the neck. He could already feel the body turning cold, the tip of Alan's nose already becoming stiff. "He's mine," the hunter told the cat. "He's mine and now I must find a way to rid of him. I am not going to leave my rabbit to a filthy animal like you."

The hunter looks at the cat now, still sitting on the bed and purring loudly. "The rabbit is still mine," he says. He gently strokes the soft fur of its head and Button leans into the touch, letting out a satisfied meow. "You miss him, don't you?"

Buttons yawns, stretching its mouth to show its white, pointed teeth and lies down on the bare mattress. The hunter pets the thick fur of its back. "So do I."

* * *

Edgar lies on a cot in Sam's room, staring into the darkness. Sam had fallen asleep hours ago, but Edgar is not tired yet. He cannot sleep; his mind will not allow it. His thoughts are on Alan and the magician. He tries to string together a plan in his mind but cannot come up with anything decent.

_How do you think it will end?_

There are so many options, so many ways he would like to murder his brother's killer. Edgar wants him to suffer more than Alan did, much more. The desire for revenge burns violently within him. It consumes him, boiling his blood and slowly darkening his heart with its smoke. Edgar needs his revenge. He needs that man to suffer, to lie on the floor, rolling around in agony as his blood pours from him, creating a massive pool of crimson.

_All you need to take care of those kinds of people is a bullet to the head; maybe two to make sure._

Edgar will shoot him. He will shoot the bastard in the leg so that he cannot escape. The magician will try to crawl, slithering his body across the floor in a pathetic attempt of escape as his blood begins to flow, and Edgar will shoot him again. He will aim for a place that will not kill the magician, only further injure him. Edgar will prolong this process as long as he can, making sure the man is fully conscious in his suffering just as Alan had been aware when he was strangled. When the sick, twisted bastard is on the very edge of death, Edgar will stand over him in victory, slowly lowering his gun, aiming it at the man's head. He will pull the trigger, the bullet exploding in the skull, sending bits of brain flying, hitting the wall in a bloody, jelly mess.

Edgar closes his eyes and nudges his face against the pillow. That is how it will end. He will kill the magician and everything will be right again. It is now just a matter of timing.

* * *

**Well, this was relatively short compared to the last few chapters and quite a bit of it consisted of flashbackish scenes. Sorry about that! I will try to cut back on those, though! Thank you, as always, to all the readers and reviewers!**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The Hunter

Chapter Nineteen

It is now 1988; a whole new year without Alan. The thought dawned on Edgar as he woke up in Sam Emerson's room on New Year's Day. The tears started to come before his eyes were even open. He quickly smashed in face in the pillow, trying to press his emotions back in. It was a weird thought, and still is two weeks later. 1987, possibly the biggest year of his life so far, had passed and for once Alan will be playing no part of his life in a physical sense. Mentally, his brother is still there. Alan can leave him physically but no matter what, Edgar cannot fully escape his presence. It is torture in an away; constantly thinking and feeling someone but not being able to see them. Just the thought of it makes his head spin. It does not make sense and most likely never will, Edgar believes. It's a new year, a new life but he still lives in the remaining fragments of Alan's life.

Edgar can still remember his old life, though; he can vision it quite vividly. He can still hear Alan's voice; how it was often dull and nearly monotone, but would turn lively in those rare, random moments that Edgar had early on learned to keep. He can see the goofy looking grin Alan would get in their spontaneous moments of brotherly roughhousing and how quickly it would fade once their father yelled at them to be quiet or Alan lying in the bed next to Edgar, always hugging his pillow close while he slept. Edgar remembers the way Alan's brow would scrunch up when he was in deep thought, his eyes unreadable to the people around him, how Alan had become accustomed to silence and did not speak as often. There were moments when Alan did speak, though. He would randomly say what was consuming all of his concentration, asking Edgar questions that he did not necessarily feel like answering.

There was a moment that occurred just a little over a year ago when Alan had been open about his thoughts. The two brothers were quietly running their parent's store as usual, filtering through a new shipment of comic books to replace all of the ones sold during the holiday rush. They sat on the floor with open boxes in front of them, going through contents to make sure there were no damages. "Edgar," Alan had suddenly said. "Am I stupid?"

Edgar looked over at his brother, feeling confused why he was even asking. Alan waited patiently for his brother to reply. His eyes were so heavily focused that a quick surge of nervousness shocked through Edgar's body. "No."

Alan's eyes lingered on Edgar for a second. He was not sure if he his brother is being serious or not. "Mom says I am," he said as he turned his attention back to the comics.

"Don't take her seriously. She doesn't even know what's going on more than half of the time."

"I don't think she likes me." Alan no longer speaks like regular-Alan. This is now Empty-of-emotions-Alan, his default setting that Edgar has become so accustomed to that he forgets which is his real brother.

"Don't be-." Edgar catches himself before he echoes his mother's words. "She likes you."

"She likes you more."

Edgar opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it. He knew that Alan was right; there was no way he could argue. He had known that their mother favored him since they were young. It was obvious in the way Mrs. Frog treated them. She was always more patient with Edgar, a little more loving and kind as well. But when Mommy looked at Alan, both of them knew she did not care for him; it was evident in her eyes or the way she spoke. Edgar had once taken some twisted sort of pride in this. Mommy loved him more! At least someone favored him! But at the same time Edgar hated it, hated their mother for making Alan look that when she denied him. She loved Alan, of course, just as any good mother would, but he would always find one way or another to send her into frustration. Edgar had learned early on to let his parents be on their own; do not question Mommy or Daddy, and one must never bother them when they are busy working. It took Alan longer to figure that out, though. He would follow their mother around, demanding her attention, fighting for her attention and begging to be hugged. Mrs. Frog would sigh and push her son away. "You make me so tired sometimes, Alan.

Alan would cling to Edgar too. He would dissolve into spontaneous moments of childish joy and hug his brother, or at least he would try to. He would wrap his thin arms tightly around Edgar's neck. "I love you Edgar!"

Cruel Edgar would always push him away, as he was much too old for silly things like hugging his brother. He scolded Alan just as their mother would. "Stop, Alan! We're not supposed to hug."

Alan stared at him, his eyes wide and pleading and a thumb stuck into his mouth, a habit which he should have grown out of now that he had just turned four. "Why, Edgar? Why can't I hug you?"

"Girls hug and boys don't," Edgar said in his all knowing older brother voice. "And take your thumb out of your mouth, you baby."

Edgar also knew not to question his parents, and that means never. There is always an obvious answer to everything. There are no whys, that is just how it is. Alan would always have to question the meaning of everything, though, and became fussy when he did not receive adequate answers. When Mrs. Frog grew tired of this, which she often did, she would sigh and tell Alan to stop; only stupid people have to ask questions. Alan would stop then. His expression would go blank and there would be no more questions. Eventually Alan stopped with his questions and gave up on his quest for affection. He learned to become like Edgar, indifferent to the world around him.

Edgar regrets this, of course. He regrets all of those moments where he did not protect his brother from their uncaring parents and where he was the one who did the damage. He always felt bad, even when he was young, and tried to make it up to Alan in quiet, subtle ways. Edgar was not able to supply his brother with the love he needed. He was not sure how to. Even with his new found lifestyle, Alan would still occasionally crave affection. Edgar could see the deep hunger in his brother's eyes, how a faint look of envy would pass over Alan's face when he watched Sam and Lucy interact. It was not a bond neither he nor Edgar was allowed to have, and though he did not particularly care for their mother anymore, Alan still wanted it. There were moments shared with the Emersons when Sam would sling a friendly arm around Alan's shoulders or Michael would absent mindedly messed with his hair. His eyes would light up with a flash of pleasure. Just as quickly as that happiness appeared, it would fade into confusion of why they were paying attention to him and then his eyes would draw blank again, the curtain of indifference once again falling over him. Alan would shrug them away just as he was supposed to.

But Edgar has that now. He has everything that Alan wanted and had been denied. He had been welcomed into the Emerson family with open arms, accepted as one of their own. He received loved and comfort. Sometimes Edgar could see his brother watching them from the shadows of the Emerson house, the same look of hurt on his battered face as the one when their mother pushed him away so many years ago.

"It's not fair," Alan whispers only to Edgar. "Nobody loves me."

It isn't fair. Edgar has a new, loving family. Alan got a box to lie in for the rest of time. But Edgar loves him. He loves his lonely little brother so much; he always has. Did Alan know that? He hopes so. He hopes that Alan can still see and hear him somehow and that he can see how much the Emersons care for him too. To the rest of the world, Alan is nothing more than just another boy on a poster.

* * *

Releasing the sketch of the possible murder suspect had done little help, much less than Collin had hoped. They had received some calls, but just about every tip lead him on a wild goose case, always stopping at a dead end. Alex, despite her better judgment, agreed to donate some of her free time for the effort. She, only with Collin's obnoxious girlfriend, had accompanied him on a visit to the Frog household. It had not gone well, to say the least. Neither of the parents recognized the man in the drawing. Collin pressured them with questions.

_Have you seen anyone like that around the comic store?_

_Have you ever seen him with your children that showed particular interest in them? _

_Did they ever bring someone up?_

_Did you ever buy drugs or any other sort of thing from this man?_

Each answer was no. It did not surprise Collin, though. He had expected nothing less considering they were barely aware that their children even existed; they would not notice if some pervert was following Alan.

The brother had not been much help either. Edgar had walked in the middle of the interview with two friends in tow. Collin recognized one right away; the young man with darker hair, the older brother of the Frog boy's friends and the last person to see Alan alive. For a brief amount of time he had been considered a possible suspect, but the interest in him quickly died down as the focus turned to the parents. Collin never believed that he had anything to do with it. There was no motivation that he could see, plus he was cooperative and had an alibi for the night Alan disappeared and was accountable for the time Alan was being held captive. Collin had briefly spoke to the younger brother but got little information out of him since the boy could barely string a sentence together through his sobbing.

Collin showed the three boys the sketch. Each of them looked at it and each said they did not know him. At least Edgar said so. For a moment Collin thought the friend, Sam, was going to say something. The boy's eyes widen as he looked at the picture, but he was quickly silenced by a not so subtle nudge of the elbow from Edgar. He, along with his older brother, said the same as Edgar: no they had not seen this man before. It was another dead end.

He is not ready to give up, though. Collin still works on the case, spending every spare moment he can into the investigation. Part of him knows that it is useless; there is little chance that he will find one child murderer in a city where a good percentage of the population is made up of criminals. There are always more murders occurring, more cases piling up on him that are, all having innocent victims that need justice. Nearly five months have passed and they are still at square one. Alex told him that he needed a break, even just for awhile just so that he can regain himself. Collin told her to shut up and left to take his lunch break early.

He decided to go to the only place he knew that would be quiet enough to think; the cemetery. He still goes there often, more so than he used to. As Collin pulls up near the plot where Alan lies, he looks around for the beat up car he had seen the man from the sketch get into. It is never there, but he always searches for both the car and the man. They are not here today. Collin sighs to himself as he grabs a paper sack before getting out of his car. He stops in front of Alan's grave and looks at the small gifts left there. There are more than when he first started visiting. A few bouquets of a plastic flowers, a rock and a small angel statue; all of which Collin has been able to trace back to, much to his disappointment, the Emerson family. Today there is something new. Three white daises have been placed at the base of the stone. Collin reaches down to feel them. They were real, much to his surprise, and relatively fresh.

From the killer, he wonders. It was possible. All of the other flowers that had been left by friends were fake. They were cheap and would stand up to the weather and time better. These flowers, this new token of kindness, would not last as long. They would quickly die as long as any evidence that may be attached to them. Collin shakes his head. He is being ridiculous, over thinking things again. They are just most likely just flowers and nothing more.

Collin sits down on the grass in front of the headstone and opens the paper bag. "Hey, kid," he says as he searches through his lunch. He pulls out a pink frosted, heart shaped cookie. He shakes his head. "My girlfriend likes to make these sorts of things. She thinks it makes or relationship strong or some sort of shit like that." Collin smiles at the cookie, picturing Melissa in the kitchen with her apron on, singing to herself as she brutally presses the heart cookie cutter into the dough. "She's cheesy about those sorts of things. I can't complain though; she's a pretty cool girl. I bet you liked cookies, right? What kid doesn't like cookies?" Collin pauses as if he is waiting for Alan to appear out of nowhere and begin speaking, and then places the cookie back into the sack.

"I'm not really hungry. It's still kind of early. I thought I'd come out here, though, just to get some quiet time. You would not believe how loud people at work are. I swear I have a constant migraine whenever I'm there." Collin rolls up the opening of the bag and sets it on the grass next to him.

"You know," he continues to say. "This would be a hell of a lot easier if you could answer me. Then you could tell me who the sick fuck who did this to you. But it's fine; you don't have to answer. It's nice having someone listen instead interrupting to put their dumbass remarks in. I'm assuming you're listening. I've always thought the dead can hear us when we talk to them. After my sister died I would sometimes go out and visit her on my own and talk to her. I always felt like she listened; I'm sure she does. It just makes it all easier, you know? Cara, that's my sister, she was a little bit older than you when she died; seventeen. Cara died in a car accident, though."

Collin drifts into silence as he thinks of his sister. It has been so long since she has died now; more than twice the amount of years she had been alive. He had only been fifteen at the time, the same age Edgar was when he lost his brother. Although Edgar believed that no one could understand what his life had become, a belief that he had loudly shouted at Collin when he came over with the sketch, Collin did understand, at least better than most people. Losing a sister in a car wreck and losing a brother to murder is not the same; one is by accident and the other occurs at the will of another human being. Still, there is that common sense of pain. Collin did not argue with Edgar, though. He quietly gathered his things and left, allowing the boy some time to cool from his anger.

"You know, kid, people say that God has a plan for everything. Now I'm all open for religion and God and all of that shit, but that? I'm not sure if it's true. I have never found the reason for Cara dying in that accident, and I can't understand how you being fu-." He stops, remembering what Melissa had said about using the words "fuck" and "kids" together.

"Rape," Collin says, correcting himself. "I just don't see how you being raped and strangled could ever be a part of some sort of fantastical master plan. Maybe God has already told you up there; He better have after all the shit He made you go through. I guess the rest of us down here will have to wait and find out on our own."

* * *

Mrs. Frog does not like to leave her room often. She spends most of her time in there, alone. Her husband has abandoned her, leaving the house to work in the comic book shop. She does not mind, though; he was never very good for conversation. There are times when Edgar will stop in to check in on her. But he never wants to talk; he only wants to know if she is doing ok and if she needs something. Yes she is ok, Mrs. Frog always tells him, and no, she does not need anything. Everything she needs is already in the room, and if it is not she can go out and get it herself.

The bedroom is a mess; a complete disaster. Used, snot filled tissues are scattered throughout the bed, a majority of them piled up in tiny mountains on the bed. Plates with old food lie on the floor and multiple glasses of water sit on the bedside table. The room reeks of decaying food and pot. Mrs. Frog continues to smoke regularly, not even slowing down after the death of her son. If anything she needs it more now. How can she full face the real world, as her ignorant sister calls it? Her child, her sweet, strange little Alan, is dead. How is she supposed to deal with this, her reality on her own? Someone had taken Alan away from her; killed him and dumped him in some filthy Santa Carla park like he was just a piece of trash. But her baby wasn't trash, and he wasn't some man's sex toy. If only the police would actually do their job and find the sick fucking bastard then she could take care of him herself, make that sick fucking faggot pay for what he did to her little boy.

But for now Mrs. Frog just waits. She waits and smokes her weed and reads. Mrs. Frog has always enjoyed reading. She has been doing it since she was a very young girl. Now she reads a collection of famous works by Edgar Allan Poe. He is one of her favorite authors and has read his work many times since she was around Edgar's age.

One day from the summer of '87, a month or so before her baby was stolen from her, Mrs. Frog had walked into the living and found Alan sitting on the lumpy couch with an open book in hand, the same one that she reads now. She stood there and watched as her son read with such focus. A feeling of pride began to swell inside her. Her husband never liked to read and Edgar never seemed to take to it as well. Mrs. Frog had given up hope that she would find anyone to discuss literature with as she had done with her friends when she was a girl, but there was Alan sitting there, reading with a dedication she recognized from her younger years. Perhaps she had more in common with Alan than she had previously thought.

"That's my book," Mrs. Frog said.

Alan looked up. "Sorry." He began to close the book, but his mother interrupted.

"No! Don't stop reading! I- I just didn't know you liked reading."

"It's alright," Alan said with a shrug.

The conversation fell into an awkward silence. Alan looked about the room, feeling uncomfortable to be having a conversation with his mother. Mrs. Frog feels the same. "What one are you reading?"

"The Raven."

Mrs. Frog smiled to herself. It had been the first poem she had read by her beloved Mr. Poe. She had read it so many times that she could recite it from memory. "Do you like him?"

"Who? Poe?

"Yes."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You were named after him, you know. Both of you and Edgar were named after him."

Alan nodded and glanced down at the book. The conversation is dying again, but Mrs. Frog does not want it to end. It is not often she gets a chance to talk to one of her boys without getting into an argument. "What's your favorite colour?" she asked.

He looked up at her, confused at the randomness of her question. "I don't know. Why?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Frog echoed. "I was just wondering."

"I don't really have one."

"How can you not have a favorite colour?" She was growing frustrated again. This is typical Alan; always trying to find a way to complicate things. How can he not pick out a colour?

Alan quickly noticed the tension growing in his mother's face and answered. "White, I guess."

It had been one of the most in-depth conversations Mrs. Frog had in awhile before Alan died. She sighs loudly to herself as she turns a page. A strip of blue construction paper sticks out from the book. It is a bookmark, a gift from Alan given to her on a mother's day from when he was in kindergarten, still in near pristine condition after all of the years. She kept it safe through the passing years, always using it in every book she read. She liked to take it out and just look at it. The sloppy, childish handwriting and the misspelling of happy and mother always made her smile. Mrs. Frog has always cherished this, even before Alan had died. She runs her finder of the lopsided crayon hearts, tracing the "I love you Mom" written in childish printing. Miserable tears begin to cloud her eyes. The grieving mother blinks them away and tries to turn her focus back to the book.

_Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."_

Mrs. Frog emits a low, mournful cry, a terrible sound that rips through her core and echoes throughout the room. She holds the book close to her chest, tempted to tear the pages right out of it. She needs a time machine or something, anything to get away this horrible nightmare her life has become. She needs to go and leave behind everything; the house, her husband and children, both living and dead. She just has to get out of this damn fucking town. Mrs. Frog sighs as she sets the book down on her lap. She looks at the bookmark, checking for any sort of damages. She gently touches the slip of paper again.

"I love you too, baby."

* * *

The hunter watches them, each and every one of them. He watches and follows and stalks. He studies them, making sure that they are not on his trail. They never are; no one is ever aware that he exists. Even with that ridiculous sketch that those idiotic detectives posted around town, he still continues to seamlessly blend into the city. It does not surprise the hunter, of course. He has dedicated his whole life to becoming a part of scenery, appearing to be a harmless, law abiding citizen. And then, without notice, he strikes, pouncing on his victims, mercilessly taking them and slips back into society just as quick as he attacked. He is a professional at this, and will not be stopped by some brats who don't know how to mind their own business.

So the hunter follows them. He sees the brother most often, usually going by his house or in town with the friend. He enjoys watching the boy. He can see how Edgar looks for him, always searching faces in the streets for his brother's killer. It gives the hunter a sense of excitement; the anger in the boy's eyes pleases him.

Tonight, though, the brother is not out. The hunter had left his sister's house to get away from that mad woman and her screaming. She can say all of those cruel things about his precious rabbit, but Kim has to be one of the loudest, if not the loudest, people to ever walk the face of this planet. It seems her voice can never be set on anything other than scream. As the hunter leaves Brownie's Diner he notices two familiar looking people across the street; the friend and the friend's brother. He scowls as he watches the two walk closer. The elder slings an arm around his brother shoulders and says something that causes the blue eyed boy to laugh. Oh how he hates them! The hunter cannot stand the sight of them. Even the boy's laughter makes his blood boil. He could kill them now if he wanted to.

But he does not, at least not now. The hunter lets them walk free and go about their pathetic lives. Perhaps another day, he tells himself. Yes, another day!

The hunter wonders through the town, looking for something to keep himself busy. He is not yet ready to go home and face his sister. He stops in front of a bar, the same one where he first met that Michael's girlfriend. He stands in front of the door, debating whether or not he should go in. He has not talked to her in awhile, which is a shame because the hunter actually likes her. The girl may be a little dense, but her kindness made up for it. Plus, she was pretty good for conversations. It is not often that the hunter can find himself in a conversation with anyone; he has never been the best when it comes to socializing with commoners. Yes, he will go in just to see if she is working.

The Dead Rat is busy, but not as bad as the night the hunter made his first visit. There was enough people to not bring attention to himself; he will be able to slip in and out without anyone registering him. The hunter looks around and spots the girl standing behind the counter taking orders from a group of young women. He grins to himself and walks over, taking a seat next to the women. A glossy, attractive blond glances over at him and makes a face, not bothering to hide her disgust for the man. She turns away, making sure that her body language said she was no interested. The hunter laughs to himself. Most pretty girls are like that; too stuck up in their own world to notice that not everyone is interested. The hunter falls under that category of defiantly not interested. If only that delusional girl knew what his type was. She would be making an entirely different face.

Star notices the new man who sat at the counter. It's him, that magician; that man who Sam says killed Alan. She flashes him a quick, friendly smile before she finishes preparing the women's drinks. Sam cannot be right, though, she tells herself. Just look at the guy; he's harmless. He could never hurt a child.

But what does a child murderer look like? Star wonders. She knows all too well that monsters come in all shapes and sizes; it is possible that the worst can take the form of a dorky middle aged man. She tries to see him that way, imagining him pushing Alan down on a bed and slowly choking the life out of him. But her mind will not allow it; it drifts to a different setting, to the night when she and Michael had come to the Emerson home at night and found the three teens sleeping. Star sees Alan sleeping on the floor with Sam in his "born to shop" shirt snuggled up close to him. She hears Michael and herself trying to prevent themselves from laughing at how even in sleep the Frog brothers are full dressed for battle; stakes combat boots and all.

"Don't you think we should at least take off their shoes?" she had asked Michael. "It can't be comfortable for them."

They tiptoed through the dark over to where the boys laid and tried to remove the Frogs' boots without waking them. Star struggled with Edgar's laces, feeling sure that she would wake him with all of the jerking, but she managed to get them off without the boy even stirring. "Do you think I should take of the headband too?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he sleeps with that on."

They fell into another fit of laughter they had to right back. When they stood up to go, Michael lost his footing and stepped on Alan's hand. "Fuck," Michael swore.

Star started to giggle more and it only grew worse when Alan started to move. "You woke him up."

Alan slowly opened his eyes and tried to look at the two through the dark. "Hey, buddy," Michael said, kneeling next to him. Star waved at the boy and Alan sleepily waved back. "Sorry about that."

"It's ok." Alan's eyes began to fall shut. He blinked multiple times to try to keep himself away. "What time is it?"

"Late. You need to go back to sleep."

Alan nodded as he closed his eyes again. Michael reached for a blanket on the couch and draped it over Alan and Sam. There was one on a chair that he would give to Edgar. "Night, bud."

"Good night."

"Good night," Star said, still smiling.

This man could not have hurt the same boy she remembers. But then again, who would ever want to? Star slide glances at the man and notices that he is watching her. His gaze makes her feel uneasy; it looks like he is trying hard to figure something out. She hands the girls their beverages and steps over to him. "Hi," Star says, trying to keep her voice leveled and bright. "Can I get you anything?"

"A water, if that's no problem."

"Sure!" Star reaches for an empty glass. "I haven't seen you around lately."

"Yes," the hunter says. He studies the girl's face. Does she know, he wonders. Have they told her yet? Surely she has seen that sketch, but that doesn't mean anything. "I have been quite busy. I've been taking care of my sister, and, well, she's a handful sometimes."

"I'm sorry." She hands him the glass.

"It's alright. She can drive me crazy but I still love her. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, not much. I've been working a lot and-."

She is off when someone taps her on the shoulder. Star turns to face Fred Wilks, her boss. Wilks is a rather freighting looking man with his grungy black hair and acne scarred face; someone people who could easily believe to be capable of harming children. Star knows better, though. His rough exterior and snarky way of talking is reserved for only customers. "I need you to help me with something," he says in his gravelly voice. Star quickly excuses herself and follows him to one of the storage rooms.

"What do you need help with?" she asks.

"Who was that guy you were talking to?"

"I don't know. He's come in here a few times before. I think he's told me his name is Brad or something, but we never-."

"He looks like that one guy," Wilks says as he grabs a box containing packages of bar nuts off of a shelf.

"What guy?"

"The one in that police bulletin; the guy they think killed that little friend of yours."

"Oh," Star says. "I don't know-."

"We should call the police."

"But we don't know if he's the right guy. What if we're wrong and he gets pissed?"

"Who cares?" He grabs another box and passes it to Star. "I don't want no fucking baby raper in my bar. If I'm right, they get to throw that fucker in jail. And if I'm wrong, well, who cares if he gets all pissy. At least they can rule him out. And maybe it will keep him away from here. Creeping looks fucks like that kill my business."

"I guess so."

"Take those out there and pretend that you are doing something so he doesn't get suspicious," Wilks orders her. "I'm going to go call now. And keep him busy; I don't want him getting away."

Star obeys her orders and takes the packages of bar nuts back to the front. As she approaches the counter, she notices the man has disappeared from his seat. She looks about the room, but cannot find him amongst the tables filled with other customers. He is gone.

* * *

**Almost done! We are on the final countdown to when I finally finish this! It kind of makes me happy, but then I will miss it in a way too. Sorry about this chapter! It's late and I have school tomorrow- only half a day, though!- so it's not the best. I wanted to get this finish, though. Thank you for reading and reviewing! **


	20. Chapter Twenty

The Hunter

Chapter Twenty

A few days ago Lucy had taken some film to be developed. Sam was an anxious to get it back. Some of the pictures dated back to the summer, the days where Alan was still alive. Sam knew there were pictures of him. He specifically remembers taking them, and wanted to have them in his possession as soon as possible. Once his mother returned with the photographs, Sam took the envelope from her and ripped it open. He quickly flipped through the pictures of his family, only spending enough to see who is in them. With each passing picture he grows more impatient and frustrated. There has to be at least one in here, he tells himself. He knows there is, they had taken some on the Fourth of July. Sam had invited Edgar and Alan that day for a small party. The brothers turned him down at first; they don't do parties or celebrations, but they eventually did accept the offering in order to get Sam to be quiet. Edgar and Alan had been awkward at first. Though they knew everyone since only Star and Laddie were the only unrelated guests, it was quite obvious that they were out of their element. They were reluctant to talk or eat any of the food Lucy had set out.

"It's a party, guys," Sam told them. "You're supposed to talk and eat and, you know, have fun."

The Frog brothers stared at him with dull looks as if they already knew that. Sam wondered if they had ever been to a party before, but did not bother to ask in fear that it would set his guests into a fouler mood.

Eventually Edgar and Alan did relax a little. They were careful with selecting food, making sure the serving size was not too large. Lucy encouraged them to take more, but they simply shook their heads and said they were fine. His mother did that a lot whenever the Frog brothers were around. She would make extra food, even more than necessary for two teenage boys, and insist that they take whatever they want; there is always more than enough food to go around. Sam knew why she did this. He had heard it before when his mother and Michael were in the kitchen talking as prepared dinner for their guests.

"I want to make sure those boys get at least one decent meal in the day. You know that their parents probably never do anything to take care of them. They are too young to be on their own."

Sam continued to flip through the photographs in a nearly frantic way. He needs those pictures. He needs some proof, any little bit to prove that Alan had once been alive and had once been with him. Sam found what he was looking for in the middle of the pile. He had nearly passed over it, but just as he lifted the photograph, he froze. There before him was a slightly younger and different version of himself sandwiched between the two Frog brothers, sporting a glamorously cheesy smile. He had managed to convince his friends to smile with the faux promise that it would be the only picture if they cooperated.

He stared at the picture for long moment. It seemed nearly unrecognizable to him now. It has only been six months since that day, but now it feels like an entirely different lifetime. He is hardly the same boy as the one in the picture, or that is what Sam believes. He is so much older now, so much more knowledgeable about the world and its true nature. He flipped through the other photographs, taking his time to examine every little detail. Sam realized that the pictures he held were most likely the last ones ever to be taken of Alan. They most likely were; the Frog parents did not seem like the type to take many photographs of their children. The feeling of loss returned. It swept over him like a cold, crashing wave, always nearly drowning but it is never quite enough.

Sam then called Edgar. He wanted him to come over to see the pictures and have someone to reconnect to the past with. He had tried showing Michael the pictures, but his brother only took a quick look before mumbling some excuse to leave. Michael does not like looking at pictures of Alan or talking about him. Sam was left to remember his lost friend on his own.

Edgar is not nearly as excited over the new photographs as his friend is. They sit together on Sam's bed. Edgar remains quiet as Sam goes through the pictures with him, passing them down and starting a string of "do you remembers" with each one. Edgar glances at images, but never for too long in fear of what they will make him do.

"Do you want to keep any of these?" Sam asks. "We can make copies if you want."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Edgar nods. He does not bother to say anymore. He has enough pictures, more than he would currently like to have.

"Are you alright?"

"I think I'm going to kill him," Edgar says suddenly, mostly to himself.

"What? Who?"

"That magician."

"When?

"Today."

Sam starts to panic. Thinking of getting revenge is all good when it is only in your mind. Acting on it, however, is not the best of ideas. "Edgar, have you thought about this?"

Edgar nods again. It is all he can think of to do.

"But what if you kill him?" Sam asks. "You'll be a murderer, and murderers go to jail. They will arrest you."

"It will be worth it."

"We're talking about possibly life in prison, bud. Does spending the rest of your life locked in a tiny cell with a bunch of crazy, angry people sound worth it to you?"

"He killed Alan," Edgar says without emotion.

"You can get the police to help, though. You can tell them all you know and then they can throw him in jail and-."

"Why should he be able to spend the rest of his life in jail?" Edgar asks. "Why should he be able to think and walk and live? His family will still be able to see him, but I never get to see my brother again. He should not be allowed to breathe when Alan cannot. It's not fair; he does not deserve to live."

"I know it's not fair," Sam says. He tries to keep his voice even and calm like his mother would in a situation like this. It would be best not to rile Edgar up even more. "But even if you do kill him, it's not going to bring Alan back."

Edgar scowls. "I know it won't. I know that he's never coming back. You don't have to remind me."

"I'm sorry," Sam says quickly. His eyes begin to water with tears. "But you can't do it, Edgar."

"I have to."

"No, you don't! I don't want you to go to jail! I don't want to lose you too!"

Edgar watches the tears fall from his friends face and onto the bed and starts to feel a little guilty. Damn Sam for having to be so emotional. "I don't know how to explain it, but I just have to do it; I have to kill him. You would feel the same if it was Michael."

Sam nods as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. "But what if he tries to hurt you?"

"I'll kill him."

"But what if you can't?"

"I told you, I'll kill him. My dad has a gun. They're not hard to use."

"Edgar-."

"And you can't tell anyone about this, Sammy," Edgar interrupts. "Promise me that you won't."

"I don't know."

"Sam, please. You have no idea how important this is to me. I won't be able to do anything until I do this."

Sam bites his bottom lip. "What if you don't come back?"

Edgar thinks about this. Someone needs to know where he is. Even if something should happen to him, however unlikely it is, someone would have to know where to find that magician so he can pay for what he has done. "I'm going to give you the address," Edgar says. He searches for a piece of scratch paper and chooses to use a copy of "Vampires Everywhere". "If you don't hear from me in about a day or something like that, then call the police. But don't call them before that; don't tell anyone. I will never forgive you for it, Sam, if you do.

"Edgar."

"Don't try to argue with me either. I'm not going to change my mind."

"But what it-."

"No. I don't care what happens. Not anymore."

* * *

Laddie knows very little about what has been going on. All he knows for sure that Alan is gone and will not be coming back.

Why?

Because a very bad, evil man killed him.

But why?

There is never a defendant answer for his questions. The best he has gotten was because life isn't fair.

Laddie already knows that, though, that life is not fair. It is an obvious fact even for a boy of his age. It was not fair that he had been taken from his first family and forced to live in a new, strange and partly supernatural life. It was not fair that once he grew accustomed to his new family that he lost most of them too, and still misses them terribly. And it is certainly not fair for one person to take the life of another and then ruin many others in the process. Laddie already knew all of this, and it is never a satisfying answer.

Laddie sits at a small square table, trying to work on solving some math problems. Every now and then he looks up at Star and watches her rush to prepare their dinner. Laddie loves Star. He knows that she sacrifices a lot just so that they can stay together and so that he may have a somewhat normal life. She works a lot, too much in Laddie's opinion, to make sure they have everything they need to be a normal family, or that is what she likes to call it. Star is often at work when Laddie gets out of school so he is sent to stay with the neighbors, the Steinbeck family, for a few hours, sometimes more depending on Star's working hours. Laddie does not like going over there; the woman that watches over him is often cranky and impatient with him and her own children. There is a boy his age, Jason, who takes pleasure in bossing his little sister and Laddie around. Laddie does not often fight back. He knows that it is a loss cause and doing something with Jason beats sitting there bored and with nothing to do. There is also a little girl around the age of seven named Tessa. For the most part Laddie likes Tessa. She is a kind girl and tries her best to always invite him to play, but Tessa is also spacey to the point that it sometimes even annoys Laddie.

A few weeks ago he had been at their apartment, and he saw Alan on TV. The children were in the living room, Jason and Laddie lying out on the floor with armies of small plastic soldiers in mock battle while Tessa sat nearby surrounded by a circle of dolls and animals. She quietly talked to her toys until Jason would yell at her, demanding her to shut up. Tessa would pause a moment and then return to conversing with her dolls in secret whispers. The television had been left on so that Mrs. Steinbeck could listen to it while she worked in the kitchen. Laddie was spacing out while he moved the figures without much thought.

Then he heard Alan's name. It gave him a bit of a shock a first. He thought of Alan often, but found it strange to hear his name coming from someone he did not know. All three children paused in their play and watched the news cast with great attention. They all had heard part of the story before and knew it was terrible, though they did not quite understand why. They knew that it must be important by the way they had seen their parents react whenever it and other stories like this were brought up. So they listened in quietly, hoping to catch what their parents saw.

Laddie stared intently at the picture of Alan. He found it odd to see the boy he once knew on TV. He had nearly forgotten what he looked like. The last time he had seen Alan, or what was left of him, was at the funeral. That is now Laddie mostly remembers him; eyes closed and hands folded as he slept in a coffin. It made him think of a vampire, and he did not believe that Alan would like that idea. Laddie could still remember other things about Alan, like how at first he, along with his brother, had tried to kill him. But once the vampires were gone and Laddie was fully human again, he slowly began to fear the Frog brothers less. For the most part they were kind to him. Alan would give him menial tasks in the comic book shop to keep him busy when Michael and Star wanted to be on their own. Alan never said much, but Laddie believes that he liked him. Laddie had liked him too, and still thinks of him often.

"I knew him," Laddie had suddenly once the story was over.

"No you didn't," Jason said. He made a gunshot noise and knocked down one of Laddie's soldiers. Laddie looked at the faceless green man lying on the floor. If he had been real he would be bleeding right now, and he would be dead, just like Alan. There would be a little funeral with other little green, plastic mourners.

"I did too," Laddie said. "He worked in a comic book store at the board walk. He would let me help sometimes when my sister was busy." Laddie thought of the comic book store then and of the pinball machine. When there was no work to be done Edgar and Alan would sometimes hand him pocket change so that he may play.

"He was raked, you know," Tessa said as she tried to pull a doll's messy blond hair into a ponytail.

"It's raped, stupid," Jason said. He rolled his eyes at his sister's ignorance. Tessa shrugged, unfazed by her brother's harsh tone, and smoothed her doll's hair.

Laddie looked at them both. He waited for someone to say more. He did not know what rape was and did not want to ask just in case the answer was obvious. But he was curious so he asked.

"It's something faggots do," Jason told him.

Laddie looked at the boy, unsure if he should believe him.

"It's true. That's what my dad said," Jason went on. "He said only a faggot would get off on that kind of shit with a kid."

"He wasn't a kid," Tessa said.

"Yeah he was, stupid. He was fourteen; you're a kid until you can drive."

"Oh."

"Why do they do that?" Laddie asked.

Jason shrugged. "They're messed up or something. They're freaks, though. That's why God hates them."

"God loves everyone," Tessa said. "It says so in the Bible."

"Not faggots. Dad says they're all going to Hell; especially that one."

Laddie sets down his pencil. He cannot think about multiplying numbers now; his mind is filled with words like "rape" and "faggot". He has wanted to question Star about them since that day. He fears her reaction; they are bad words, even the sound of them is terrible. But Laddie must know. All he has to do is simply ask.

"What does rape mean?" He picks up his pencil again and keeps his eyes on his homework. It will be too awkward to look at Star.

Star turns around and looks at the boy. She is taken aback by the sudden question. "Why?"

"I heard it on the news," Laddie says. He traces over his name at the top of the paper. "They were talking about Alan and they said it."

Star paused as she tried to come up with a good way to describe it to a child of ten. "It's when you make someone do something they don't want to do."

"Like what?"

"Um, grown up things."

Laddie's face flushed a little. He knew what she meant, or at least thought he did. He had heard Paul talk about it many times only to be quickly silenced by Star when Laddie was around. Laddie then thought of what Jason said about rape and faggots. "Jason said it was something faggots do," he says.

"You shouldn't say that word, Laddie."

"Which one?"

Star hesitates. "Um, faggot. It's not a nice word."

"What does it mean?"

"It's a bad word for someone that is, um, a homosexual." She waits to see if Laddie also asks for another definition.

"Was Alan a f- one of those things?" Laddie asks.

"No, sweetie," Star says quickly. "He was just a little boy; he didn't want any of that to happen. There are some adults that do those terrible things to kids. That is why you never talk to strange men, no matter what they say or try to give you. You just ignore them and run to the first adult you see as long as they are women or have kids of their own. You know that, don't you, Laddie?"

The boy nods. He knows this; they had talked about it in school before. "Did Alan talk to a stranger?"

"I'm not sure," Star says. She cannot see Alan talking to someone he did not know when he barely spoke to the people he saw regularly.

"Did rape hurt him?" Laddie asks.

Star bites her bottom lip to help fight back the tears she knew that would be coming. She does not like to think of that poor child terrified and in pain while some horrid man abused him. She could lie to Laddie and tell him that Alan was not in any pain, but there would be no use for it. It was clear that Alan did suffer and lying would not chance the facts. "Yes," she says. "It hurt him very much."

* * *

The hunter did not get to know his rabbit quite as well as he would have liked. In previous experiences he had more time with his prey. They got a chance to converse, and the hunter would ask them many questions so that he may gain more information to use against them later. With this child, though, all he did was cry or ignore the hunter whenever he would try to talk to him. He meant no harm! He only wanted some idle conversation to pass the time between work and their sessions. Alan was quiet, though; quiet and defiant. He would not openly engage in talk with the hunter unless he was forced to.

There were some occasions that, with enough force, the hunter were able to get the boy to talk. After the incident where he and his sister had marked the child as a whore, he lay in bed with Alan and began to ask him questions.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the hunter asked as he rubbed the small, bare chest.

Alan did not reply. His focus was on his bleeding wound and blocking out the pain along with the rest of his surroundings. He wondered how long it would take for the letters to fade away, if they ever would. The hunter clenched his jaw in frustration at the boy's lack of interest in the conversation. He pulled the boy close up to him, smearing some of the blood onto his own body. Alan cringed as the man wrapped a hairy leg around him. He would have to answer to keep him distracted.

"I don't know," Alan mumbled.

"You don't know? Surely you have some idea." The hunter pulled the boy underneath him and began leeching on his neck. "Perhaps you can take over your parents' comic shop?"

"No."

The hunter chuckled. "So you don't want to be anything then?" He moved his mouth to Alan's lips and kissed them softly. "That's fine with me, though. I hope you never grow up so you can stay this small forever."

Alan shuddered as the man kissed him again. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," the hunter said as he ran a hand over Alan's thigh. "You will be just fine as long as you keep being a good boy."

"When do I get to go home?"

"Never." The hunter kissed him again, this time making it last longer. "You will stay with me forever."

"But-."

"How many times do I have to tell you this, Alan?" The man's voice began to rise with frustration. Damn that rabbit for always having to piss him off and for ruining a completely lovely moment. "They don't want you; none of them do. You keep thinking that someone is going to come in here and save you, but they never will. Hell, that Michael or Mitchell practically handed you over to me. I saw the way he looked at you, like he wanted to leave you as soon as possible."

Alan tried to think back to the night he was taken. He remembered seeing Michael and Star, but there was no crazy man. He wondered how long he had been watching. "But if he knew he-."

"No. No he wouldn't. Do you think he cares about what happens to you? I could have fucked you right then and there in front of him and he would not have noticed. That is why you need to stay with me; I love you. I will protect you from all of those mean, nasty people that will do nothing for you."

"But you called me a whore. Michael never said those things to me."

"That was Kim."

"You let her."

The hunter sighed as the child's eyes watered up with tears. "It was just something that needed to be done. Besides, what do you think that Michael is going to say now that you are a whore? He or anyone else is not going to want you back now that you are contaminated."

"I'm not a whore," Alan said quietly.

"Don't be silly, baby! It is written all over you! Do you think your brother is going to want to be related to someone that likes to go off and have sex with men?"

"I don't like-."

"And just imagine what the kids at school will say once they find out, all of those nasty words they will call you. They will hurt you. They will shun you even more than before because no one wants to be around someone like you. This is why you are better off here! I will love you even if you are a dirty little slut!" Two tears trickled down from the boy's cheeks and the hunter quickly kissed them away. He pressed his lip against Alan's and forces him to open his mouth. A brief sense of pleasure passed over Alan as the other tongue massaged his own. He hates himself then. He does not want to be enjoying this and he shouldn't be; it's wrong. Alan silently sobbed to himself as the man forced him to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. Pain shot through him as the man lowered himself down, pressings his weight against the boy's injured stomach. Alan wanted his mother terribly then, or any sort mother that would cradle and soothe him until he stopped hurting so much. He knew that his would not do that, though, even if he did manage to escape. He could call his Aunt Katherine perhaps; she always showered both Alan and Edgar with affection whenever they were together. Or maybe even Sam's mother would offer him some comfort. Anyone would be fine as they kept him safe from this crazy man. He wanted to be at home.

But home does not want him.

The hunter felt something wet on his face. He pulled back and looked at the child beneath him. "What's wrong?"

Alan sniffled. "I-I want my m-mom."

"Why?"

"I d-don't know."

"Do you miss her?"

The boy nodded as more tears fell from his eyes. The hunter sighed, annoyed, and laid back down. He pulled Alan close to him, pressing his head in the crook of his neck. "I highly doubt she misses you, darling," the hunter said. "She probably has not even noticed that you are gone."

Alan cried again. "I want to go home."

"This is your home now. How many times do I have to explain that to you?" The hunter gently stroked the boy's hair to calm him. "You really are quite stupid, aren't you, baby? It's no wonder none of them could stand being around you. It must have been so tiring."

"I'm not stupid," Alan said in a bitter whisper.

The hunter smiled to himself as he rubbed the boy's back. He has struck a nerve; there is something new to go off of. "Yes you are," he said. "You are so incredibly stupid and you do not even realize it." He sighs to himself. "Poor child, you are so delusional. But it's ok; your pretty little face and sexy body makes up for your empty head."

Alan cringed at the description. "No."

"No what? You would rather be smart than sexy? Well, I'm sorry you're not, sweet-heart. That is never going to happen. You'll never be anything more than a whore." The hunter tightened his grip. "Which is fine by me. You can stay my pretty little baby whore forever. And if you leave, I will kill you."

The rabbit did leave, or at least tried to. He was a defiant child, a stupid, defiant boy that thought he could get away with whatever he wanted. The hunter had taught him, though, and he taught him well. Anyone that dares try to defy him must pay the consequences.

But what if the rabbit did manage to pull off his escape plan? The hunter has thought about it many times and cannot bear the idea of it. To think of his rabbit getting away and running into the arms of his brother or pothead parents or possibly even to that curly haired fool is just terrible. They would try to comfort the boy as he sobbed to them about the supposedly terrible man that supposedly hurt him when in all reality he was only given true love. They would take his rabbit and lock him up somewhere where the hunter could not reach him. He would have to track down the child again and slaughter him and anyone who stood in his way. Alan is his and belongs with nobody else.

The rabbit did not escape, though. He is dead, under the ground, and still owned by the hunter. This pleases the man, that he was the last person to ever see him alive. Alan's final breaths belonged to him.

The hunter hums to himself as he stirs sugar into his coffee. It is a chilly, grey winter afternoon, the sort that makes one feel very drowsy. He cannot wait for the summer to roll around again. Warm weather means a more people, and more people mean a better chance of making money, and perhaps finding a new plaything.

He can hear his sister in the living room talking back to the television. Kim spent every afternoon watching her soap operas and swearing and laughing at the characters on screen. "They are so stupid," she would tell him. "All of them are a bunch of crybabies. I cannot wait for the day when they kill off the whole cast."

"If you dislike them so much, then why do you watch them?"

"Who doesn't enjoy watching other's miseries?"

The hunter takes a test sip from his coffee. The dark liquid burns his tongue; he will have to let it cool for a little bit longer. He walks into the living room to join his sister. Her commentary is more enjoyable than the actual show. Just before the hunter is about to sit down on the couch, the doorbell rings.

"You better get that," Kim says. She keeps her eyes glued on the television set. "I don't want some fucker making me miss my shows."

The hunter sighs. "No, we wouldn't want that. It may make you even crazier than you already are."

"I'm not crazy!" Kim screeches. "You're the fucking psycho pervert! Until the day I kidnap some kid to fuck and kill, you are the crazy one in the family!"

The hunter shakes his head as he heads for the door. That sister of his, she is just not right in the head. The bell rings again. Before he answers, the hunter smoothes out his clothes and quickly sets himself into character.

"Get the fucking door!" Kim yells from the living room. "You can't hear anything with that fucking idiot buzzing!"

He opens the door before his sister can say any more profanities. He looks down at his visitor. Shaggy hair, headband, camouflage attire all tied together with a grim, serious face: it is the rabbit's brother. The hunter grins. What a lovely surprise! "Can I help you with something?" he asks the boy in a pleasant tone.

"We need to talk."

* * *

**That turned out shorter than I would have liked. Oh well! Sorry for getting this up so late! My life is slowly being devoured by school related things. There is only one chapter left, and I promise to have it up sooner than this one! Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers! **


	21. Chapter Twenty One

The Hunter

Chapter Twenty One

Edgar has been gone for over an hour, and Sam can already feel himself starting to crack under anticipation for his return. He had promised Edgar that he would not tell anyone about going to the magician's house to seek his revenge. He promised to tell not one single soul, and friends, or at least good friends, which Sam is, do not break promises. But this is a terrible promise, as some promises are; Sam knows this. There is a better chance of Edgar dying in battle rather than coming back fully alive, unharmed and triumphant.

And what if he does? Well, then surely he would end up in jail or in some sort of trouble. He will have to make some sort of payment for his vengeance, for nothing is without consequences.

Sam moves restlessly on top of his bed. He wishes Alan would be here. Alan could talk sense into Edgar better than anyone else; he would be able to stop his brother before he screws up his life even further. But Alan is dead. Sam knows this truth in the farthest corner of his mind, though his heart still tries to deny it. No amount of wishing or spilling of blood will change this reality for the better; no one will ever win.

He looks at the pictures lying out on his bed. Alan, Sam and Edgar; at that time, only six months ago, he believed that it would always be that way and would have laughed in the face of anyone who said otherwise. The three had fought in battle together, had spent many hours at each other's houses, debating comic books and talking of the supernatural. They had accepted each other and all of their oddities. Nothing could break them apart.

Nothing but death.

Distance does not change friendship, though. At least that is what Sam's mother had told him. He will always be friends with Alan, and there is still Edgar, of course, but time with him may be quickly coming to an end as well. If Alan were here, Sam thought, he would tell Edgar to stop. He would not let his brother go so close to danger, especially not alone and against an enemy that so little is known about. He would want Sam to do the same, to go stop Edgar before he does something stupid.

Sam sighs loudly as he smashes his face into the pillow. Promise or not, he cannot allow Edgar to do this. If he must lose another friend, he will not lose him to death. Sam searches for the comic book on which Edgar wrote down the address. Edgar had said before that the magician did not live far from the Frog house, only a few blocks away. He could possibly find it on his own, but Sam has never been too good with directions and having only a bike as means of transportation he would not reach the house in time. And if he does manage to find his way, going into the house of a murderer, even for the sake of Edgar, will not turn out well. Sam will need some sort of help if he does choose to go after his friend. If there is little hope for Edgar surviving the magician, then there is none for Sam.

Someone knocks on the bedroom door. "Come in," Sam says. He quickly shoves the comic book underneath his blankets and reaches for the pictures, pretending to be preoccupied with them.

Michael opens the door and steps halfway inside. "I have to go run some errands for Mom," he says. Sam nods as he picks up another photograph. "You can come with if you want."

"I'm fine."

Michael walks further into the room and joins Sam on the bed. "Are you still looking at those?" Sam does not reply. He takes his time flipping through the pictures again, trying his best to hide his distress. Michael takes one of the photographs and looks at it. It's odd seeing Alan again. He seems to be more like a dream now; one that Michael is not sure had once been real or not. It had not been that long ago, though. It was only six months ago when this picture was taken, when he and Sam tried to coax the Frog brothers out of their comfort zones with Grandpa's supply of fireworks that, judging by their mother's reaction, were most likely illegally obtained, but even the destruction of toy soldiers by explosives could not break the solemn faces of the miniature vampire hunters.

Sam glances up at his older brother. "Can I ask you something, Mike?"

"Sure."

"What if one of your friends, your best friend, was going to do something really, really stupid but he made you promise that you wouldn't tell anyone? What would you do?"

"What would I do?"

"Yeah."

"Are we talking about a specific friend? Someone that we know?"

"No! It's just a hypothetical situation-."

"Sam," Michael interrupts. "What's going on?"

"Nothing! I was just wondering and all just in case, you know, the situation ever comes up and." Sam begins to trail off. He slides his hand beneath the blanket and grasps the address in his hand. He thinks of Edgar now, his last surviving friend, and the danger he may be in. "Edgar," Sam begins to say. He falters with his words, struggling to find the correct words to betray his friend with.

"What? What about Edgar?" Michael sits up straighter, now on alert. "Sam, if Edgar is in trouble, you need to tell me."

Sam releases frustrated sigh. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "He's going to hate me."

"No, he won't."

"He will. He practically said it."

"Sammy, you can't keep a promise if someone is going to end up hurt by it."

"But-." Sam pauses again. It is too late to backtrack now. Michael knows too much, he will not let it go until he gets all of the information. Sam sighs again as he hits his head against his knees. He is torn. "Edgar went off after that one magician guy. He told me he wants to kill him."

"How?"

"I don't know. He said something about his dad having a gun, and he how he was going over to the guy's house and-."

"Wait," Michael cuts in. "You know where he lives?"

Sam nods. "Edgar found him."

"Why didn't you say something to the police?"

"I don't know! Edgar doesn't want them to know. He wants to do this himself."

"Jesus Christ," Michael curses as he gets off of the bed. "Do you guys not realize how stupid this is? You can't go off and play police when-." He looks at his little brother and sees tears beginning to well up in his eyes. "Sammy, it's ok. We're going to fix this. Do you know where he went?"

Sam reaches for the comic book that Edgar had given up and holds it out to Michael. "I'm going to go get him," Michael says as he looks over the address.

"Can I come with?"

"No." Michael takes a pen and copied the address onto one of the corners. He ripped it off and quickly shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. "It's too dangerous. I'm going to have a hard trying to convince Edgar to get out of there; I don't need to be keeping track of you too." Sam nods silently as he wipes away a stray tear. He has grown so weary of all this crying as well as the drama that brought it to be. "It's going to be ok," Michael says, trying to reassure his little brother. He gives Sam a quick half hug before heading for the door. "I want you to call the police and tell them where Edgar went."

"But Edgar doesn't want-."

"I don't care what Edgar wants. Whether this guy really killed Alan or not, we need help to stop Edgar from killing someone or getting hurt himself."

Sam says nothing as Michael leaves. He listens to the sound of the front door slamming and the engine of a car starting up. He sighs to himself once again. Edgar is going to hate him now. Well, he will if he is not already dead.

* * *

Edgar studies the magician as he fallows him into the house. He does not see the dog tags around the man's neck and he begins to lose faith in his decision. Maybe this is not the right guy, Edgar thinks as he fallows the elder down a hallway. He quickly shakes away the thought. It has to be this guy, the magician. He had been around too much; the gravesite, the comic book store and possibly even Alan's funeral, if Edgar is remembering it correctly. No adult had taken so much interest in him or his brother, even after Alan was gone.

"So what did you want to talk about?" the hunter asks, looking back over his shoulder at the boy. Edgar detects a hint of amusement in his tone and it only angers him further. He can feel the presence of his father's gun he stole hidden out of site, deep in his heavy, oversized jacket. With one pull of the trigger Alan will have his justice and Edgar will be able to rest knowing his brother had been avenged. It was all a matter of timing now, and he waits impatiently for that moment to arrive.

"You're one of the Frog kids, aren't you?" the hunter asks once Edgar does not reply. "Your parents own the comic store on the board walk."

Edgar grunts in confirmation.

"Well, I don't know very much about comics so I don't know what you would-."

"I'm here about my brother."

"Oh." The hunter smiles to himself. It does not surprise him. It was only a matter of time one of those idiots managed to track him down. But no problem here; this can be taken care of easily. "Is there something wrong with him?"

Edgar stops in his tracks. He glares at the man in anger and confusion, unsure if he is serious or is just playing a game with him. "You know what happened to him."

"Do I?" The hunter presses his lips together to resist his on growing smirk. The boy is clearly upset. His nostrils are flared, spouting out hot, angry breaths. He clenches his jaw in a tight scowl, ready to fight.

Kim's voice rings out throughout the house as she yells at the television again and suddenly falls into a fit laughter. Edgar looks off in the direction of the noise, feeling slightly alarmed by the woman's hysteria. "Perhaps we should discuss this in a more private place," the hunter says with a slight frown. He leads Edgar further into the house.

"You will have to excuse my sister," he says as he stops in front of a door. "She is not well as of late." The man opens the door and holds it for Edgar. "After you, kiddo." Edgar shoots the man a quick glare before peering into the doorway. The room is dark and he cannot see much. Before he can investigate further, Edgar is pushed forward. His heart beat jumps as he falls into the darkness, tumbling down an old set of wooden stairs. He lands harshly on cold, hard floor. Edgar lies still for a moment as his body begins to register what has just occurred. He is able to piece it together as a new, throbbing pain begins to form in his arm, and quickly pulls himself to his feet, mumbling curse words at the man. At the top of the stairs, the hunter turns on the lights as he chuckles quietly to himself. Edgar watches as the man shuts the door. His heart drops as he hears the door lock. He is trapped now; the only way out is death.

"You should really be more careful," he says. The stairs creak loudly under the hunter's weight as he walks down into the basement. Edgar places his hand near his pocket, ready to draw his gun, and takes a step backwards. He feels his knees going weak with anticipation. This is it; either he or the magician will die right here in the basement.

"Stairs can be rather tricky to master," the hunter says. He eyes the boy. The hunter smiles at the sight of him. He looks quite ridiculous in his army attire, the camouflage pants and red bandana headband that are a bit too large for him. His face, still round with youth, is hard and determined, prepared for battle. Despite his attempt appear more courageous than he is, the hunter can see right through his exterior. He is nothing more than a terrified child playing soldier, just like his brother. The hunter walks towards his prey. He flashes a toothy, malicious grin as Edgar takes another unwilling step back. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Edgar reaches for his pocket again, ready to pull out the gun. "My brother."

"Your brother?"

"I know what you did to Alan."

"Do you?" The hunter's smile softens at his precious rabbit's name.

"I know you killed him."

"Killed him," the hunter echoes back. "And why do you think I would do something like that?"

"You have his dog tags," Edgar answers. "Sam saw them."

"Is that all?"

"I've seen you around him. You've been at his graves and you were at his funeral too."

"There were lots of people there, darling. You can't prove that I am guilty of anything for going to a funeral and possibly having dog tags."

"You threw me in your basement," Edgar adds. "Would an innocent, not crazy person do that?"

"You tripped. Honestly, kid, you really don't know-."

"I know you killed him."

The hunter studies the boy with a blank expression. "Suppose I was the one that did kill your brother," he says calmly. He walks closer towards Edgar, pushing the boy back up against a wall. Edgar tells himself to pull out the gun but cannot bring himself to do it. "Let's say I took him right of street and brought him here to play, and ended up strangling the stupid, whiny bitch. Don't you think it would be rather foolish of you to waltz right into the house of a murderer? And for what? Revenge? Answers? It seems like a pretty stupid thing to do."

Edgar flinches as the man pushes his bangs aside, but quickly regains his composure to scowl at him. He takes a swipe at the hunter's hand, knocking it away. The hunter shakes his head, chuckling softly as he reaches out to touch him again. Edgar tries to force himself to move, but fear takes over and freezes as the hand gently moves down his face, caressing his cheek. "But to tell you the truth, that does not surprise me," the hunter says. He keeps his eyes locked on the boy, prepared to strike at any signs of retaliation. "Your brother was not a very bright child either." He slides his hand down to Edgar's chest, feeling his heart rapidly pulsate beneath his clothing. "You two seemed to have a lot in common. I wonder if you are a screamer too."

The boy's face darkens with anger. "I'm going to kill you." He makes at attempt to draw the gun from his pocket, but is stopped when the hunter grabs his wrists and pins them against the wall.

"You seem to be a little confused," the hunter says as he squeezes the wrists. "There will be defiantly some bloodshed, but I can assure you none it will be mine. But-." He leans in close towards Edgar, smashing his body into the wall. Edgar yelps as he feels the man press up against him. "Let's play a little first. I would hate to let an opportunity like this go to waste. It is not often that I get idiots walking right into my house."

"If you even try anything, I'll-."

"You'll what? Do you honestly think you are in any position of power at the moment?" The hunter throws Edgar down onto the floor and drives his foot into the boy's ribs before he gets a chance to get up. He delivers another swift blow, this time hitting Edgar in the head just as he was rising to his knees. Edgar catches himself before he can hit the floor but is quickly pushed down while the hunter digs an elbow into his spine. "Now you can be a good boy and do what I say," the hunter says. He presses the struggling teen further onto the cold floor, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his trusty pocket knife. "And I will kill you quicker than your sexy brother."

"Don't you call him that, you freak," Edgar growls. He tries to kick free, but the man is much larger and stronger than him and Edgar remains trapped on the floor.

"You are such a sensitive little thing," the hunter says with a laugh. He presses the cool blade dangerously close to Edgar's cheek, feeling tempted to slice into the soft flesh. "I wonder, will you cry as much as Alan? That really was annoying. It's no wonder your parents are so drugged up all of the time; who could stand being around two highly emotional people for so long?"

Edgar tries once again to wretch himself free from the hunter's grasps. He knows he will not be able to keep this up much longer until he faces the same torture as his brother. All he needs to do is get his gun and then he can blow this psycho's head off. He can feel it against his stomach. It is so close, but nearly impossible to reach. The hunter grabs onto Edgar's wrists and tries to hold them back with one hand while he uses the other to work off the camouflage pants. For a moment, Edgar freezes in his struggles, now taken over by the shock of what is happening to him. He wishes he had not made Sam promise to keep quiet.

"Alright, kiddo, let's see if you are as good as your brother."

* * *

It does not take long for Michael to locate the magician's house. He has become familiar with the rundown neighborhood during his long searches for Alan and then giving Edgar lifts home. He vaguely recognized the dirty white house from the many times he had passed it. It was disturbingly close to where the Frog family lives, only a few blocks away. Michael shudders at the thought of it. He looks up at the house. It is not much different from the others in this area. It is old and worn and in a desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. A beat up looking car is parked in the cracked driveway. Michael recognizes it right away as the one he had seen during the first visit to Alan's grave site. He spots Edgar's bike lying carelessly abandoned on the dying lawn. This has to be the right house.

Michael keeps his hand set on the handle of the car door. He wishes he had taken a little more time to come up with a better plan to rescue Edgar rather than just walking in there. But he has no time. Edgar may already be in trouble, much more than he intended to get in. With a sigh, Michael exits his car and heads towards the house. The curtains are drawn and aside from the car parked outside, he cannot see any signs of someone being home. There is no noise, no signs of movement. This worries him. There has to be someone there, at least Edgar is if his bike is still left at the house. He presses the doorbell, setting off a shrill, sing-song chime. Suddenly, the house comes to life; a loud voice booms on the other side, cursing in anger at the disruption. It is higher, defiantly not male. Michael waits a moment for someone to answer the door before trying again. This time the door opens.

"What the fuck do you want?"

He stares at the woman standing in the doorway. She is rather short and stands in a defensive stance, her arms crossed her chest and a scowl on her face. Her blond hair has been pulled up into a high, messy bun on top of her head. There is something off about her eyes, something wild and unnatural, and Michael is put off by the intensity of her glare. "Um, I'm looking for a friend of mine," he says. "He's fifteen and around this high." Michael raises his hand to the side as if Edgar was standing next to him, taking a guess at the boy's height. "And he was probably wearing a bandana."

The blond woman purses her lips. "Oh, him."

"So you've seen him? Is he here?"

"Of course he is," she says. She walks back into the house. Michael stands outside, feeling unsure if he should follow. He decides to go in.

"Do you know where he is?" Michael asks as he tries to catch up with the woman.

"How should I know," she replies in a sneer.

"But you said you saw him."

"Only for a second, but then he went off with Brad somewhere."

His heart skips a beat. That man could already be doing terrible things to Edgar by now. "Do you know where they went? I really need to-."

"Probably upstairs," the woman cuts in. She sits herself down in an armchair in front of the blaring television and settles herself into a comfortable position. "That is where he takes all of his whores. Nasty little things; I keep telling him to keep his trash out of my house, but you know how some people are."

Michael blinks in confusion as he processes what the woman had just said to him. There is something very messed up about this household. "Where?"

"Third one on the right." She glances at Michael for a moment. "You know, I told him to not go after any brats with family. But does he ever listen to me? Nope! He never does; he's too stupid. I should have kicked his dumb ass out of here while-."

Michael quickly thanks her and heads off for the stairs. With each step closer to the room, he grows more fearful of what he might going on inside. The magician could already be in there, doing God knows what to Edgar, and it is something that Michael does not want to see or even think about. He pauses behind the third door, listening carefully for any sort of sound behind it. He hears no screams or other disturbing noises; all is quiet. He takes in a deep breath and he grabs a hold of the door handle, slowly turning it. The door creaks loudly as it moves over the floor. He takes a wary step inside.

The room is empty, and Michael is thankful. There is no Edgar on the bed with the magician over him, trying to do disturbing things to the young teen. A strange, heavy energy fills the room. It weighs down on Michael, crushing his senses. He looks about, searching for any clues that would say Edgar had been here. A pair of black boots similar to the ones Edgar wears lay on the middle of the floor. Michael walks over and picks one up. As he examines them, he thinks of Alan; Alan sitting on the counter in the comic book store, his feet dangling over the edge, swinging back and forth in a juvenile manner that makes him to appear much younger than he wishes to. He holds the boot, carefully running his hand over the worn, black leather. He remembers these shoes. Only a week before Alan had disappeared, when they had all gone out to eat at the diner, Michael had accidently stepped on them. He quickly apologized, and for the briefest amount of time, he almost saw Alan smile before mumbling something and running off to join Edgar and Sam. Alan had still been alive then. His feet had been moving, his blood still flowing when he wore these shoes. His heart was still beating and now it rests here.

_Michael, I want to go home._

He searches more of the room, looking for other clues that Alan may have left behind. There is a dark stain on the bare mattress as well as few others that Michael does not want to want to know the identity of. He opens the door to a small table besides the bed. The drawer is filled with a random assortment of items, and as Michael sifts through, he feels something cool and metal. He knows what they are before he can pull them out; Alan's dog tags. Michael stares at the small metal plates in his palm. Edgar will want these, as well as the police once they get out of here. He shoves them in his pocket for safe keeping.

At the bottom of the drawer, Michael finds a black and white composition notebook. The pages have been worn from use and the words written upon tell a disturbing tale. He skims the pages, trying his best to read the man's chicken scratch handwriting. There are many entries detailing the hunt for Alan, some even dating a week before the Emerson family moved to Santa Carla. It disturbed Michael to think that this man had been following Alan for so long and without anyone's notice. As he reads, he catches little words, names he recognizes, including his own. The word "rabbit" appears time and again, and it takes Michael awhile to realize it is a reference to Alan. There are detailed accounts of what the magician did to the child, marked with sketches of other plans and bookmarked with a few snapshots. Michael removes one of Alan fully clothed and appearing to be peacefully asleep on a bed. The boy does not look to be in any pain, but his arms were bound and duct tape placed over his mouth. Michael quickly puts the photograph back, unable to bear the thought of Alan in bondage and what came after the picture was taken.

_Please take me home, Michael. It hurts so much._

He wants to burn the book, destroy every sick detail of Alan's torture, but he knows he must save it. He is basically holding a murder confession in his hand.

"You know, it is rather rude to go through other people's belongings."

Michael jumps, startled by the new voice. The magician stands at the edge of the room with an unpleasant expression on his face. "I thought I heard the door bell ringing," he says as he walks towards Michael. "When I came upstairs, my sister told me that we had another visitor. I can say that I honestly was not expecting you to show up."

"Where is Edgar," Michael demands.

The hunter rolls his eyes. "Edgar? Who cares about Edgar?"

"If you did anything to him, I swear I'll-."

"Yes, yes. You will kill me; I have heard it all before. I would like to see you try."

"Where is he?"

"Does it really matter? He is of no use to you now."

"Tell me where Edgar before-."

"Before what?" the hunter asks, smirking. "What can you possibly do? What if I told you that I already finished him off? What if his body is lying in the basement just as dead and as broken as his brother. That would mean you let both little froggies die on your watch. I really do hope you don't plan on ever having kids."

"Where is he?" Michael asks again. He will not believe the hunter; Edgar cannot be gone.

"I already told you, he's dead. I don't see why you even care; you have no use for him just like you had no use for the rabbit."

Michael scowls. "I care about both Edgar and Alan."

"No, you don't," the hunter says, shaking his head. "You practically handed Alan over to me. Couldn't even spare him five minutes of your time to make sure he got home safely to his pothead parents. But you were too busy with your own life so the rabbit became-."

"Would you quit with all of the fucking rabbit talk," Michael interrupts. His voice rises with anger, the volume of his speech rising higher with each word that is released. "He was a human being, not some dumb fucking animal. He was a little kid, and you raped and murdered him."

The hunter's eyes sparkle at the fury in Michael's voice. "And enjoyed it, might I add," he says. "I should be thanking you, really. Your sweet little friends was the best piece of ass I have ever had."

Michael grinds his teeth. "He was fourteen."

"He was a slut; a stupid, dirty little whore that got what was coming to him."

The hunter does not see it coming as Michael sends a wild fist in his direction. He stumbles backwards as a fresh pain sets in his jaw. Michael stands in front of him, close and breathing heavily through his nose, with his fist still clenched in preparation for another assault. The hunter places a hand on the growing red area on his face. He smiles.

"Did I upset you? Accept it; that sweet little boy you thought was so innocent was actually far from him."

"He never wanted you."

"Oh, but he wanted you. He would cry and cry, beginning for you or that stupid brother of his to come save him from the mean, scary man. It was pathetic, really. I have never seen anyone cry so much. Luckily, I was able to knock some sense into that little bitch and made him finally realize that no one was going to come for him. Just think, that poor child died knowing that nobody loved him. You should have seen his face when-."

The hunter does not have the change to finish his sentence. He is sent to the floor with Michael on top of him, pounding at his face. "I'm going to bash your head in, you sick fucking freak," Michael yells as he throws another punch. The hunter is in pain. He can feel the blood starting to seep down his face, out of his nose. Still, he finds this situation enjoyable. Michael's reaction to his words pleases him; the pure, unadulterated hatred is beyond wonderful. He almost regrets that he has to kill the amusing fool.

"You know," the hunter says, blocking another punch. "I had Alan in almost the same position once. I smashed his pretty little nose in. I broke it and then I fucked his brains out while he cried for you."

Michael releases an animal like cry. He grabs the hunter's head and smashes it into the floor. The hunter is caught off guard by the rage for a moment, and then quickly retaliates. This little game no longer is amusing to him. With all of his strength, the hunter pushes Michael off of him, freeing himself. He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his knife. "If you are not going to play nice then I am just going to end this now." The hunter lunges forward and knocks Michael to the ground, placing the blade up to his neck. "Or should I keep you alive here until I can catch your cute little brother. What's his name? Sammy? I bet I can make him squeal just as loud as Alan." Michael growls as he tries to push the hunter away. It is a struggle; the man is much stronger than he appears to be.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings throughout the air. A bullet flies by and narrowly misses the hunter. He yelps in surprise, giving Michael enough time to escape him. Both look towards the door and see Edgar standing there with a gun in hand, raised and pointed at the hunter. The hunter curses to himself and wonders how the boy managed to escape. Kim, he thinks; it had to have been her.

"I'm not going to miss you next time," Edgar says, keeping his voice even.

"Edgar, get out of here," Michael says.

The Frog glances at him and then shakes his head. He turns towards the hunter, who smiles at him. "Well, aren't you a big boy playing with your daddy's gun," the man says. "You don't have the guts to kill anyone, kid."

"That's what you think."

The hunter laughs as he rises to his feet. "You stupid little brat. I'm going to have to kill both of you now." He takes a step towards Edgar, but stumbles back as the gun goes off again. This time he is hit. The hunter grunts and falls to the ground, clutching at his stomach. Edgar stares in horror at the crumpled form before him, shocked that he actually shot someone. It does not feel nearly as good as he thought it would.

"Edgar."

He looks up at Michael. Tears begin to fill his eyes, though he does not quite understand why, and he steps around the leaking body over. "Are you alright?" Michael asks as he pulls the boy close. Edgar nods but is unable to take his eyes off of the man. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." A tear falls down his face. "I killed him."

Laughter erupts throughout the room. The hunter staggers to his feet, still clutching at his wound. He reaches for his beloved knife that had fallen on the floor. "You have terrible aim. It's going to take more than a bullet to get rid of me."

Michael grabs onto Edgar and tries to force the teen behind him as the man draws closer. Edgar fights back, trying to get forward so he can have another clear shot. He aims his father's gun again, but he is less confident now. "Edgar, no," Michael says to him. "You can't do this."

"Two to make sure," Edgar says quietly. He tries to force himself to pull the trigger, but his hand is shaking too much. He will surely miss if he tries.

The hunter ignores the pain as he takes a step towards Edgar. He raises his knife, prepared to slice open the boy's throat. He does not have much time; he is going to die and the hunter knows this, but he will be damned if these idiots make it out alive. He will be the one to have the last laugh. The hunter dives at Edgar, tightly clutching the knife in his hand, taking aim for the boy's neck. In surprise, Edgar drops the gun and it falls onto the floor out of reach, now useless. Michael pulls Edgar away, but the blade still manages to catch some of the boy. It catches his hand and he cries out in pain as it slices open the soft, pale skin.

There is another gun goes off. The hunter drops to the floor; this time he does not get up. He lies there, motionless and bleeding. A massive hole has been blown into the back of his head, exposing his jelly-like brains. A large amount of blood flows from the body, drifting closer to the boy's feet. Michael moves them away to avoid it. Edgar clings tightly onto Michael's shirt, trying to avoid the growing pool. He has never seen so much blood come from a human before. It seemed nearly impossible that one person could have that much in their body. Behind the hunter's body stands a blond girl. She wears a face of terror, her gun still aimed at her victim. There is someone else with her, a man, who does not look nearly as shaken as her.

"I just killed someone," Alex says, sounding surprised.

"I'll say," Collin says as he walks towards the body. "You blew the bastard's head clear off." He looks up at Michael and Edgar. "Are you two ok?"

A man with graying hair dressed in uniform enters the bedroom. He swears as he catches sight of the body. "What part of bring him back alive do you not understand?"

"That was all of Alex's doing," Collin says. He nearly sounds proud of his partner. "He was going to kill those kids."

"We needed to talk to him. Now we won't be able to find out all that he knows."

"I'm taking a wild guess here, Boss, but I'm going to say if he is running after people with a knife then there is a good chance that he is a murderer."

Alex slowly lowers her gun. "I just killed someone," she repeats.

Michael looks down at the blood that has now near their feet. He lifts Edgar up to prevent any blood from getting on his boots and carries him over to safety. "I'm going to need a statement from all of you," the eldest officer says. He watches as Michael sets Edgar on the ground again.

"Come on," Collin says, placing a hand on Edgar's shoulder. "I'm going to get you two to the hospital."

Edgar comes out his state of shock and scowls at the detective. "I'm not going to any hospital."

"You look like-."

"Collin, not now," the grey haired man says. "Give them a moment."

Collin shrugs. "At least this is all over now. We won't have to bother putting up with that guy through court. Did you guys get him to admit to anything?"

"He has a notebook," Michael says dully. "He wrote about everything he did, even before he kidnapped Alan."

"What an idiot."

"Anything else?" the grey man says.

Michael remembers the boots. "He has some of Alan's things; his shoes and dog tags, maybe even more." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the dog tags. Edgar follows Michael's hand as he holds it out towards the policemen. "Do you need them?"

Collin and his boss exchange looks. "I can't say it will do much help if we have a confession and all," the elder says.

"Plus he's dead," Collin adds with a small smirk.

"You can keep them."

Michael places the dog tags into Edgar's hands, and pulls him close as the boy begins to tear up again. "It's ok now," Michael says softly.

Edgar wiped at his tears. "No. It's never going to be ok."

* * *

**DONE! Well, that took forever. It's not very good but it is finally done! I'm sorry it took so long for me to finish this! My life has been rather hectic as of late. So, the ending is not all that great. I thought I had one, but then I kept changing who killed the hunter because no one seemed right. I almost didn't kill him! But he is now dead, his head is blown off and we can all rejoice now.**

**Also, I would also like to thank all of my reviewers, especially redeyedcat, prepare4trouble, and demetrifever123 for being my most consistent reviewers from the very first chapters! It really helped motivate me to finish this, and I am going to miss hearing from you. And of course thank you The Clown That Smiles for leaving such lovely reviews for every chapter as well. And thanks again to all my other reads and reviewers for sticking to this even after I killed Alan! You are all pretty darn awesome! I'll stop writing this now. **


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